14 years ago - the hanging chads

Among the list of nerd things I do is collect front pages of various newspapers. I'm going to try to post more in the near future, and I really dropped the ball by not sharing last week some of the World Series ones I have (think Twins). Live and learn.

Here are three covers to remind you of why your vote matters, even when you think it might not.

The first two are from the same date: Nov. 8, 2000, Sioux Falls Argus Leader.

Here's the first run off the press:

Then, here's the second run, same day:

And, finally, the Dec. 14 edition:

Finished: Westlake's "Trust Me On This"

Still on my Westlake-Block obsession, bouncing back and forth between the two, and just finished Donald Westlake's Trust Me On This. It wasn't as great as most Westlake novels, but even a lesser Westlake is better than most of his contemporaries.

Goodreads gave it a surprisingly high 3.84 out of 5:

When a serious young journalist discovers a bloody corpse on the way to her new job at a sleazy tabloid paper, she is soon dodging bullets and matching wits with her enigmatic publisher.

It's a 4 out of 5 at Amazon. I scored it a 6- on the 10-point Haugometer.

Westlake is just one of the best. I'd have given anything to have enjoyed a cup of coffee with this guy. His ability to weave a tale, combined with his sense of humor, always leave me in awe. Simply a great author, RIP. Fortunately, he was such a prolific writer, I still have several dozen of his works to enjoy down the road.

A letter from Ole, seriously

So my mom's cousin David Renli is one of those gynecology guys who's always poking around trying to learn the most personal details of people's lives and then when he runs across something new he posts it on Facebook for everybody in the family to see. Wait, did I say gynecology? I meant genealogy. Silly me.

In his recent research he ran across an old dude from Canton who gave him a letter, which was written by my great-great-grandfather Ole O. Renli. It was translated from Norsk so some of the words are probably over the head of you NNs (Non-Norwegians). But it's pretty interesting. Thought I'd pilfer it from our cloistered group so some of you might enjoy. FYI, my mother's maiden name is Renli.

The funny thing is when I first started reading it, I thought it was going to be one of those Ole joke letter things. You know, the ones that start: "Lena, I'm writing this slowly cuz I know you don't read very fast." This isn't one of those, but I was more than suspicious for at least a few sentences.

Here's the legit letter:

To: Knudt O. Folkedahl, Western Done Co. Wisc. 

From: Ole O. Renli, Canton P.O. Lincoln Co. SD. 

Written 26th of Jan, 1879 

Good Friend. Your letter has been received and read with pleasure. And it is good to see your health is pretty good., and I can say the same with God’s help. My family has increased since I came to Dakota. We have three boys so now we have 4 boys and 2 girls and all are well shaped and has done well to date. I have a quarter of land that I have deed to, and I have 60 acres too.  I have built myself a Fremhus 24 foot long by 14 foot wide and 12 feet high and painted it white on the outside. Bought farm tools and everything is paid for. When I came here I had ‘(mit Oxetox and one Kovogna)’ and 20 dollars. That was all. Now I have four horses, 2 black ‘(hoppers)’, one 8 and one nine years old which I have had for four years. And 2 kolter three years old this spring. (some unreadable text) Also have 5 cows, 4 calfs, 4 pigs, 10 sheep and some chickens. I got 500 bushels of wheat – 600 bushels Havre oats and almost 200 bushels of corn and some potatoes.

Most of the people around here are well off. Big Knudt has 2 quarters of land and is well off. Now he is getting married to his brother’s widow. She has 2 quarters so they will now have 4 quarters together. And they have one Drenge Barn together and she has 2 boys from before. So now they have 3 boys and not married yet.  They are getting married in 3 weeks.

Ole Ulderikson is here with family. Engenret Hofoflon is here with his family and later others. I don’t have room for.  Old Tolef is well and active. Little Knud was sick almost a year and was breast fed most of the time and Astri 14 days and was buried after Knud. 

We now have 7 miles to train station. We have not had much snow. No snow now.

You are all greeted so much from us and also most of all you Knuds with family from our family.

Ole O. Renli

Weekend Link-Ohhhh-Rama

Here are some stories worth reading after you get bored reading about Ebola. It's a high bar we set here:

** I am blessed with a circle of friends who likes to send me sheep articles. As much as I should explain why, if for no other reason than to keep sordid rumors from beginning, I won't; because sordid rumors about me are kind of fun. The Lindsay Lohan one has dogged me for years.

And this story is actually very interesting: White House Sheep, a History. In 1918, President Wilson wanted sheep. But trouble lurked.

** This woman, unlike her similarly named American counterpart, became famous for actually doing something besides taking naked selfies: A woman known as "Rehana" has become a hero across the internet as news spread that the Kobani soldier has reportedly killed more than 100 Islamic State terrorists single-handedly.

And if you were the kind of cad to notice such things, she's kind of a hottie too.

** In my defense, I didn't publish a book in 2014. National Book Award finalists named.

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr
An Unnecessary Woman by Rabih Alameddine
Lila by Marilynne Robinson
Redeployment by Phil Klay
Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

In reading the summaries of all five books in the fiction category, four of them will be added to my wish list for Christmas, with "All the Light We Cannot See" piquing my interest the most. "Lila" looks like the only clunker among the group, so I'm guessing it will win.

** Harry L. Katz, co-author of "Mark Twain's America", weighs in on the best Twain books.

** Seems like Brazil has its share of ungodly prolific writers, including this crazy old coot.

Settle down, boys and girls

When Minnesota gets weird I don't worry too much because, well, it's Minnesota. Can you say Ventura, Dayton, Franken?

But when Nebraska starts going goofy I start to worry that it could spread north. Case in point, Lincoln, and I'm not even talking Bo Pelini.

In a new initiative orchestrated by Gender Spectrum and the Center for Gender Sanity, public school teachers have been urged to stop calling students “boys and girls” and instead refer to them as “purple penguins,” or some other suitably bestial name. 

Fortunately, The Federalist delivers some sarcasm smack and targets Nebraska numbskulls: We Must Revise Classic Literature To Promote Gender Inclusivity

Finished: Lawrence Block's "Tanner's Tiger"

I scored a signed, limited-edition reprint of the master Lawrence Block's book Tanner's Tiger which was originally written in 1968.

Block is best known for his two series that feature Matthew Scudder and Bernie Rhodenbarr, but this is one of his shorter and earlier series, I think eight books that feature Evan Tanner, a guy who never sleeps, speaks five languages and works for some shadowy, unnamed CIA-kind of outfit. It's relatively short, 220 pages of big typeface for 50-over readers, was clever, witty and imaginative. Oh, and silly. So I liked it. I'd give it a 6- on my 10-point scale. It's a 3.57 of 5 on Goodreads' scale.

Block wrote an afterward to the book over 30 years later which is one of the funnier things I've read in a long time. The man has written a plethora of novels. He's a character himself. I follow him on Twitter and enjoy him immensely.

The best line of the book was about a drunk pilot saving the day in bad weather conditions: "Never in the course of human events has any man earned so much acclaim for making so many people vomit."

By the way, fictiondb.com is a pretty cool website if you are looking for book lists by authors and other nerdy stuff. Their taken on Tanner's Tiger pretty much nails it:

Tanner is well-traveled, a master of disguise and subterfuge, accustomed to navigating the hidden geography of the world's most dangerous countries and territories. Borders and bureaucracies mean nothing to him. Passports and visas are but a trifle to a man who speaks countless languages, with contacts in subversive organizations that span the globe. Tanner's been smuggled out of Turkey, fled the Soviet Union in an experimental aircraft, and escaped from a bamboo prison in Thailand.  

Now, he's been given his most difficult assignment, to infiltrate a country motivated to repel his every attempt to enter, a country which will imprison him, drive him underground, and cause Tanner to call upon his wits and contacts as never before.  

That country is Canada.

Happy anniversary, baby

Today my wife celebrates her 26th year of marriage to me, which explains why she's stumbling around the house at 7 a.m. with a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, her left eye twitching uncontrollably, and mumbling: "God grant me the serenity ..."

But as with most things, my mantra is: "She'll get it over it."

Unlike the "silver" anniversary last year, Yahoo (not my wife's name) tells me: The 26th Wedding Anniversary does not have any traditional materials or symbols associated with it. So I didn't have any guidance on what gifts to buy this year. Besides how do you top last year's silver toaster? I'll tell you how, by making one up. Seems I read somewhere that the 26th anniversary is the "soy" anniversary; so a bottle of Kikkoman it is!

And a dozen roses never hurt. If I learned one thing in marriage, it's that flowers cure a lot of ills. I have noticed that the suitors of my daughters seem to have figured that out too, so chivalry is not dead, it's just wilting; mostly because it's awfully tricky to find that sleeping patient in the hospital with a door open so you can quick run in and grab the flowers without them noticing. Takes practice, especially since they've beefed up security so much in the maternity wards. But after 26 years, I got it down.

So when people ask what the secret to a relatively long marriage is, and I think 26 years qualifies, I tell them:

1 - Flowers.

2 - Time away from each other. Hey, I'm not stupid, I know it's possible, though unlikely, that I can get on a person's nerves once in a while. So when she wants a "Girls Weekend Away" with her sisters, I frown and say: "Okay, I suppose." Then when the door closes, I high-five the dog, break out the fireworks and turn on the Cinemax.

As I'm not a particularly social person outside of work, where I have to be social, I'm not big on hanging out with her co-workers and family; not because I don't like them, but because they are people, and sometimes, a lot of times, I just don't want to be around people. So we agreed early on that there would be "got to"s. Those would be gatherings I "got to" go to. Otherwise, I'm invited to come with, but don't "got to." That works out well, because almost all of those "got to"s are ones I would go to anyway: Christmas, birthdays, weddings and a family reunion every five years. It saves on guilt, hurt feelings and pressure.

3 - You have to be a team, and while there's no "I" in team there is a "me." Don't let them tell you otherwise. But as a team, we divide up the duties, she pays the bills (don't even ask me how much we pay for cable or cell phones; heck I don't even know how much I get paid, I haven't seen a paycheck in 10 years, it just goes in the bank, I assume I get paid) and she does the laundry (though I contribute on those occasions when the stinking pile of sweaty running clothes on the floor next to my side of the bed gets too rank for even me to handle) and I do the outside stuff, like mowing and shoveling and gardening and walking the dogs and, umm, other really hard stuff.

But mostly the team part comes in on those rare occasions when it seems like the world around you has lost its mind and you two are the only ones who are sane. There have only been a handful of times when it's come to that, but there's something special about having one other person in the world who gets it. So when the day is crashing in around you, you can hug them with the knowledge that you can pull up roots at any second and go land on a houseboat in Florida or in a remote cabin in Montana and you'd both be perfectly happy.

That's when you know you made the right choice 26 years ago. And I did.

Pass the soy.

On this date in 1981 ...

The Twins played their last game at the old Metropolitan Stadium on September 30, 1981, losing to the Kansas City Royals 5-2 on a rainy afternoon. The night before the final game, home plate was stolen, and after the final game ended, hundreds of fans gathered on the field, searching (mostly unsuccessfully) for mementos -- Wikipedia

Here's a sign myself and "No Guts No Glory" Wissink absconded with a while later:

Adds a little panache to my basement.

I'd scream for more baseball

It's always a sad day for me when the Minnesota Twins play their last game of the season. Today was that day. I feel a little more hopeful about next season than I did this time last year, but that's not saying much.
Sure I love the playoffs and the World Series, but as of late they haven't involved my team. So it's not as great as it could be. Still, pretty great.

I'm a baseball guy. I love watching my son and his friends play it. I love the fact that my daughters know as much about baseball as any of their peers. Even my dog loves baseball.

I like other sports, of course. Having played several, with little success, I've covered them for newspapers for 25 years before moving west. I've known some of the greatest coaches in South Dakota, interviewed many of the best players, and remain friends with some great people involved in athletics throughout the state.

Football is my second favorite sport to follow. Friday night under the lights at any field in South Dakota is a night well spent. Yet, I consider football to be one of the silly sports. It's not one that most people play after their high school or college careers in a competitive manner. It's not a lifestyle sport, like cross country, golf, tennis, baseball or even basketball. Still, it's great fun to watch.

I also enjoy it on the psychological level, watching fans and coaches and players. The emotions and personalities are on full display in football.

I find the motivational techniques interesting. I'd guess two-thirds of the football coaches I see might be considered borderline personality disorders. It's a sport where grown men can yell, swear and shove kids without ramification. If they did in Walmart what they do on the sidelines, they'd get a visit from law enforcement or Social Services. I've just always found that method odd.

You don't normally see math teachers screaming out their students: "Two plus two is four! Get your head on straight!" I don't see golf coaches get the most out of their athletes by yelling at them: "Keep your head down or you're running ladders!"

Baseball is just more fitting of my personality I guess. I can probably count on both hands the number of times I've screamed at somebody in my 50 years. I like quiet runs on forest trails, reading and writing in my man cave, pulling weeds in my garden, hiking with my dogs, and, best of all, sitting along first-base line watching a bunch of kids or men trying to hit a round ball with a round stick.

Maybe I could incorporate a little more yelling at the umpires into my routine though. But it'll have to wait a few more months.

I cannot tell a rye

I'm man enough to admit my mistakes, and sometimes even too lazy to correct them, especially when they're funny.

In the Lemons Never Lie post I was recently made aware that I referred to Westlake's sense of humor as being rye. As we know, rye is a grass. Its grain is often used to make whiskey. Now I could try to wiggle out of it and claim I was using the dictionary's second definition which refers to the word as being a "gentleman." So maybe it was a gentleman's sense of humor. But that would be incorrect and I'd be lying if I said that was my intended usage. And I hate to lie unnecessarily.

Yes, I know, it should be a wry sense of humor. I goofed. And some emailers need to get out of their basement and find themselves a date.

Weekend link-oh-rama

Some stories and notes I ran across that I found interesting:

** A lot of good points here: The Reaction to Rob Ford's Cancer Proves We Don't Take Addiction Seriously

It's almost as if that nasty business of the media running roughshod -- downright bullying -- a man suffering from a mental illness never happened. Journalists never hounded him at the rehabilitation facility. Or coerced other patients into revealing intimate details of his treatment. Or wrote features about the clinic founder's own history with the law.

Now that he's dealing with a physical disease, on the other hand, it's real. Let's give the man some privacy, our noble journalism vanguards suddenly declare.

** Speaking of old rock, in a post below ... I went to this ceremony and the site near Hill City is pretty cool. I'd recommend it for anybody looking for a quick afternoon jaunt. Might even learn something: Once doomed, Gold Mountain Mine mill frame now an attraction

Seven years after the mill frame was declared dead, officials Tuesday morning celebrated the opening of the Gold Mountain Mine Interpretive Trail. The sunny September morning allowed visitors to walk the trail around the mine and read interpretive signs explaining both the history of gold fever in the Black Hills and the process for gold mining it. 

The trail ends next to the preserved mill frame and a partially intact boiler unit that supplied steam power for workers at the mine.

** Minneapolis author Louise Erdrich wins a big award I'd never heard of and 25 grand. From the Star-Trib:

Her novel "The Round House" was the 2012 winner of the National Book Award; "Plague of Doves" was a Pulitzer finalist in 2009, and "Love Medicine," her debut novel, won the National Book Critics Circle Award in 1984.

** I like to think that for every Adrian Peterson and Ray Rice in the NFL, there are more like this: Ex-Raven quites NFL to give kidney to brother

"Man, when that thing came out I felt like somebody threw me a small football," he said.

** Here's an in-depth look at the NFL's security apparatus, basically run like the FBI by former agents. It makes me wonder how much crap gets covered up, glossed over and never sees the light: Elaborate security network is supposed to protect league from trouble

** From the Federalist: Global warming was worth it, and if we had to, we'd do it again

Finished: Westlake/Stark's 'Lemons Never Lie'

I've been on a crime noir kick lately -- Donald Westlake (aka Richard Stark) in particular.

Westlake is one of the all-time great writers. Yet, when I talk books with friends, even voracious readers, I've yet to run into a person who has read him. The guy sold millions of books, so obviously people have read him, just not those I hang with I guess.

His best friend was Lawrence Block, and he's much better known today, partly because he's still alive and Westlake isn't. Block's 1992 novel A Walk Among the Tombstones is being released in movie form this month with the great Liam Neeson as the main character Matthew Scudder.

Block has also written some outstanding crime noir. But, back to Westlake, I just finished his novel Lemons Never Lie, written under the pseudonym, Richard Stark.

When he’s not carrying out heists with his friend Parker, Alan Grofield runs a small theater in Indiana. But putting on shows costs money and jobs have been thin lately – which is why Grofield agreed to fly to Las Vegas to hear Andrew Myers’ plan to knock over a brewery in upstate New York. 
Unfortunately, Myers’ plan is insane – so Grofield walks out on him. But Myers isn’t a man you walk out on, and his retribution culminates in an act of unforgivable brutality.  
That’s when Grofield decides to show him what a disciple of Parker is capable of …

This has a 4.5 rating out of 5 on Amazon. I gave it a good 7- out of 10.

The title refers to it supposedly being bad luck when you sit down at a slot machine and hit three lemons. That's what Grofield does at the start of the book, and sure enough they don't lie.

Westlake is a master of the twist, with a rye sense of humor that puts him among the elite. I highly recommend anything Westlake has written, and LNL is no different.

Is rock dead? Naaaa

Gene Simmons of KISS recently said rock is dead. Dee Snider of Twisted Sister disagrees with a thoughtful response. I gotta side with Mr. Twisted on this.

Is it hard to make it rock 'n' roll? You bet. Always was, always will be. Will rockers make as much money as they did "back in the day"? Probably not. But that won’t stop them, and they'll be motivated by a much more genuine love of the art, and great rock will continue to be produced, played and embraced by rock fans.

Guest: Krauthammer's book is treasure

By Wesley Roth

Disclaimer: I am a big fan of Dr. Charles Krauthammer and look forward to hearing his opinion on Special Report and also reading his columns in the Washington Post.

"Things That Matter" is a collection of Krauthammer's best writings from the most personal (death of his brother) to the political to the historical.  Every column or essay is a treasure trove of insight and most of the time I found myself nodding in agreement.  Some of his positions I disagree with (mainly social issues), but on fiscal and national security issues he is spot on.

The most powerful essay in the book is "Zionism and the Fate of the Jews," which gave me lots to think about in the years ahead, myself being a Christian Zionist. Also, the long-form essays in Chapter 16 on "America and the World" should be read and taken to heart.  Highly recommend this book of Dr. Krauthammer's best writings.  I will treasure my signed copy I received from my brother last Christmas. Thanks Ryan!

Also: Krauthammer's book sells 1 millionth copy

Finished: Jeffrey Deaver's The October List

Just to annoy those of us who have difficulty writing a novel, Jeffrey Deaver (he of over 30 novels) went and wrote one in reverse.

 

And I just finished it - The October List.

 

It has a relatively low 3.39 of 5 rating on Goodreads, but I gave it a 7- on my 10-point scale, which is pretty amazing considering I almost quit reading it halfway through.

  

The book starts on Chapter 36 and works it's way to the beginning. So, obviously, you know how the book ends but then weave through to find out how it got to that point.

 

I give the dude credit for originality. I also give him credit for keeping my attention and forcing me to look back (to the end/beginning of the book) to try to remember things, because let's face it, the 1980s were tough on my brain cells.

 

I had never read a Deaver book before, but it was given to me by a friend who reads many of the same genres as me though different authors. He said he wanted me to read it to see what I thought.

 

I think I liked it. But I wouldn't want to read to many more written that way. It was a challenge, but reading doesn't have to be easy.

Back and rambling

If you think I fell off the planet the last few months, you're close. It was baseball season, so I was in places like Chamberlain, Burke, Chadron, Martin, Tabor. Mostly though, my inattention to the blog was due to a lack of a computer.

The laptop blew up and I was relegated to using the Kindle, which is fine for surfing, but not so good at posting. But as luck would have it, it's Junior's 17th birthday this week and I bought us a laptop for his birthday. So no excuses now.

The thing is, I wish I'd been a more responsible blogger this summer, because I thought of some really great things to write about as I chased foul balls around the country. Most centered around stupid people I ran into. While few in number, bigots, idiots and morons always seem to stick out more than normal people.

Mostly, this summer reaffirmed my belief that as much as people like to complain about "kids now-a-days", it's actually the adults who are the problem. As I like to say, too many clowns, not enough circuses.

But I'll save that for another day. Today's lesson refers back to Junior and is titled: "Mom is always right."

As you may be able to make out in the photo, there is a fly inside that foggy cup. While unusual, the more unusual thing is that the fly has been inside that cup and on our kitchen counter for four days now.

It all harkens back to a long-running argument between my son and my wife. Son was perpetuating the teenage boy myth that flies only live 24 hours. Wife said she didn't believe that. Son said it was a scientific fact. This discussion has been going on for quite sometime, probably for as long as it's taken wife to catch a fly in a cup, which happened four days ago. (The funniest part to me is imagining how long she's been chasing flies around the kitchen with a cup. But I digress.)

As it's not enough to flaunt the boy's failure for just 48 hours, declare victory and let the fly go, now the kid is forced to look at his failed "scientific fact" every morning and evening as the fly flies around in its glass day after day for who knows how many more days or weeks. What's his answer to this: It's probably some sort of super fly.

Poor kid. He just needs to do what I did long ago: Admit that she's right (even when she's not). And move along.

Uncle Bob, man of letters

My Aunt Maxine, my dad's only sister, passed away last September at the age of 81. She was married to my Uncle Bob for over 60 years (61, I think, but being an English major math has never been my forte).

Maxine was a super person, and known to many as the greeting card lady at Lewis Drug (Southgate then Westgate) in Sioux Falls for 25 years. Bob still lives in SooFoo and with the help of his three kids and plethora of grands and great-grands is getting along as well as anyone can after losing the love of their life of six decades.

My favorite memory of Bob goes back to my grade school days when I was at Bob and Maxine's house and playing Yahtzee or some game. Now, as some will attest, I like to do things my own way (see blog header), and anybody can roll dice with their hands. It takes talent, however, to put them in your mouth and then spit them on the board. It's a proven fact you roll more boxcars with that method than any other.  And it also explains why I've been kicked out of every back-alley and after-hours craps game I've attended.

But that night with the cousins, things didn't go as planned and while employing my unique technique I swallowed one of the dice. And as any uncle would do, who was supposed to be watching his nephew so he wouldn't do stupid stuff like that, Bob picked me up by the ankles and shook me up and down to get the dice out. Surprisingly, that technique didn't work either. So began a trip to the ER.

Anyway, that's the kind of guy Bob is. Funny, laid back. He worked at a meatpacking plant in Sioux Falls and is an otherwise Ordinary Joe like the rest of us and our neighbors.  But I have a philosophy about Ordinary Joe's or Bob's, and it's that they all have something more to them than meets the eye. Some hobby, some hidden talent, something you don't really know about until they pull that hand-carved duck call or oil painting out of the closet and say: "Look what I did last week." And you go, "really, you don't seem like a guy who carves duck calls."

Well, Uncle Bob pulled one of those out ten years ago, shortly after my dad died. It was a poem about my dad. Whoda thunkit? Uncle Bob was a poet and I didn't even know it. I'll reprint that one when I get time to retype it. In the meantime, here is one Uncle Bob wrote in February, a few month's after his wife Maxine's death.

Very cool, Bob. Very cool.

It’s Time!

Out of the darkness

Came Maxine’s liver disease

From the head to the toe,

All this fluid, where does it go?

This is the part that frightens me so.

No cure for that as you can see.

She’s lying in the casket in front of me.

Only God will know when it will be,

The time when she is taken from me

Be patient my child, He will set you free.

Where are you going?  Where have you been?

I went to meet Jesus and He let me in.

I pray dear Lord on a bended knee,

Promise me help in my time of need.

In the wake of hours,

He will set you free,

God only knows when it will be.

God only knows she whispers to me.

When this is all over, and the pain is gone,

Life on earth still goes on.

No more suffering, no more pain

Nobody answers when I call her name

Most of life is what we do,

And down the road a lap or two,

Jesus will talk to me and you.

“No” said Jesus, "you must understand!

“Come, I’ll take you by the hand,

And we will go to the Promise Land”.

Oh dear Lord, what should I do?

Oh dear Lord, get me through.

We pause to say ‘I love you.’

                                Robert Larsen | February 2014

Not Friday, cuz I've been busy, link-oh-rama

It’s been my reading experience that the best-written, most interesting stories don’t appear in what I consider the noisy, cackling newspapers (Washington Post, NY Times) and on-line sites (Salon, Huffington, Breitbart) where their reporters sideline as talking heads on network television. Actually, it’s more like they are talking heads who sideline as writers.

I find the quality stuff in places like The Atlantic, The Economist, Deadspin, even Popular Mechanics and others. Regionally I like Stu Whitney and John Hult at the Argus Leader and David Rooks in the RC Journal. But, frankly, you won’t find a more enjoyable newspaper to read than the Custer County Chronicle.

Here’s a sampling of some quality, thought-provoking writing I’ve seen lately:

** Interesting piece: I Was Racially Profiled in My Own Driveway

** Learn something: How Nigeria’s economy grew by 89% overnight
 
** 8 Lessons in Manhood From the Vikings

** A court fight that should bring a tear to your eye: Feud over sweet Vidalia onions

As a grower with roughly 3,000 acres invested in Vidalia onions, Delbert Bland insists his three decades in the business make him — and not the agriculture commissioner or other farmers — the best judge of when his onions are ready to come out of the ground.

 ** Yasiel Puig Isn't Perfect, But He's Everything Great About Baseball

It's possible that Puig could learn not to swing at obviously terrible pitches or overthrow the cutoff man; he could certainly learn to show up at the ballpark on time. It's also possible, though, that if Puig learned to play as conservatively as some kid who'd come up on a travel team in Virginia and then been drafted right into one of the better-run minor league systems, and learned to moderate his life and get to bed at a proper time and so on, it would beat the spirit out of him along with the heedlessness, and he'd be not just a different player, but a lesser one.

** Crazy-interesting story on the long-lost KISS guitarist:

Prior to the blowout, Cusano kept to himself and — aside from the occasional pear-tree dispute — lived in relative seclusion. One neighbor, speaking only under conditions of anonymity, said that "I thought originally it was just two women [living at Vincent's home] because of the way he dressed. It was very incognito." When the resident found out his neighbor was not, in fact, a woman but a solitude-seeking rock god, he remembered thinking, "I was like, 'Really?!'"

** Not to say everything Salon writes is useless: My boobs, my burden

** Glowing Reindeer Antlers Deter Car Wrecks

I would've liked to known you, but ...

My wife and I have really been into the Turner Classic Movies (TCM) channel the last couple years. We love it. Friday night they had Monroe’s 1956 film “Bus Stop.” It was odd and funny and great. My favorite rodeo movie evah.

I was reminded of it when I saw this quote this week:

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.” ― Marilyn Monroe

Here's the trailer.

Here's the Wiki.

Finished: Lee Child's 'Never Go Back'

This is the 18th Jack Reacher novel. A fun feature for me was a couple of mentions of South Dakota. I always like a nod to the existence of my state. The novel begins with Reacher arriving in Washington, D.C., from South Dakota, then the entire plot takes place and once resolved he announces his intention to return to South Dakota. No idea what he's doing here, but this week I'll look differently at every person I see with a black eye, broken nose or on crutches.

This was one of my favorites in the series. He busted some skulls, was on the run with a pretty woman, meets who may or may not be his 14-year-old daughter, and it has many of the one-liner features of all the books.

I gave it a 7 on the 1-10 Haugenometer, which is actually my highest rating of 2014. Goodreads has it at 4.5 of 5.

Quotes I enjoyed for one reason or another:

"Reacher's mantra was: Get your retaliation in first."

".. and the guy went down so fast and so hard it was like someone had bet him a million bucks he couldn't make a hole in the dirt with his face."