oh, the prairie lights are burnin' bright, the chinook wind is a-movin' in
Tonight marks my return to seeing Minnesota as I first did - fenestrally, via my car and, as now, a hotel room with a parking lot view. (And pizza, natch.) The parking lot has a truly shocking number of Oldsmobiles in it. We're talking double digits. It's almost creepy.
The Oldsmobiles are located in the town of Willmar (rhymes with the pig in Charlotte's Web), seat of the county of Kandiyohi (you're starting to say the word "candidate," but you're excited to notice some old friends in the midst of saying the word and instantly attempt to attract their attention with "YO! Hi!"). It's about a hundred miles west of Minneapolis, closer to South Dakota than to the Metrodome.
I find myself here deployed by the presumably strategic whim of the Obama campaign, which does NOT say "Oh, thanks so much, but you really don't have to to do this!" when you offer to volunteer. Tomorrow I'm going to be a "poll challenger" here in Willmar, with strict instructions from the campaign not actually to challenge anybody, and to make sure my Republican counterpart doesn't do so (successfully), either.
I'm not woefully unprepared for this. And even if I were, I have a packet of Handy Reference Materials and a big smile that should see me through the day, which may in fact turn out to be eventful. There's a chicken plant here, staffed, one would imagine, by many immigrants of uncertain status, and Willmar was the site of one of those Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids a year or so ago. I reckon that folks here who're undocumented will have the sense not to call attention to themselves by showing up at the polls. There are probably also several perfectly legal and registered Hispanic or Somali voters around, and that'd be where I suspect problems will arise, if any do.
I'm gonna wear a red shirt, just to try and throw people off.
When they gave me the location assignment, I was pretty thrilled, because I figured this would be a good chance to explore the state some. (Even though I'd been hoping more for north than west.) What I had forgotten was that, because of the time change this weekend, it is PITCH FRIGGING BLACK when you start a mini-road trip at 6:00 p.m. But the trip was not devoid of fun! No, there were two notable incidents:
The first was in the blink-and-you-miss-it village of Darwin, where I'm guessing town's namesake is none too popular. My headlights were burning bright and true, and I am thankful for that, because they revealed a sign on the side of the road proudly proclaiming: "TWINE BALL MUSEUM."
You could Wiki that shit, but why not instead go to the TWINE BALL'S ACTUAL WEB SITE? It is of course www.darwintwineball.com.
Oh God there's an online gift shop. I know what I want for Christmas.
The second incident took place in Litchfield. Driving through it, I was ready - for no real reason whatsoever - to proclaim it The Worst Town in America. That would've been entirely arbitrary. I didn't stop there at all. I just don't like the name, there was no twine ball, and the townscape was uninspiring and static as I drove through.
You don't appreciate how nice uninspiring and static can be until your rearview mirror springs to flashing, red-and-blue life. The cop was probably 40 or so, mustachioed (of course) and extremely chipper. I gave him my license and he took it back to his car while I rooted around for my insurance card. I was still rooting when he came back.
"Do you know what the posted speed limit is in town back there?"
"No, sir." (Not, in point of fact, a lie.)
"Okay, well, it's 30. I had you clocked at 43, sittin' in the parking lot of the Casey's there."
"Okay." I honestly don't know how fast I was going, but I was fully prepared for the number to start with a 5, so that was actually kind of a relief to me. I was also wondering if, given the fundraising records set this year, Barack might contribute to my cause, or at least refund my money so that I could.
"No luck finding that insurance card?"
"No, sir. I do have insurance, it's through GEICO..."
"You don't have anything? Expired, or anything?"
"Expired? Oh, sure, I've got one... two expired ones, last one just expired in September." Matt's seen my glove compartment and can attest to my keen filing system. There's probably proof of RX-7 insurance from 2001 in there.
"And all this information is the same now?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, I'm just gonna give you a warning on the speed. Make sure you get a current insurance card and carry that with you. You slow down now, and have a good night."
!!
Litchfield, Minnesota: The Best Town in America.
There are two clocks in my hotel room here. The one on the microwave says 12:08. The one on the alarm clock says 10:07.
The actual time is 11:05.
Someone must've thought, "Fall forward? Fall back? Is this Indiana, do we even do that?!" and panicked.
This is an unusually point-by-point post for me but is serving a therapeutic value in that I may be able to overcome my Election Day nerves - wholly unrelated to my duties tomorrow - and sleep tonight.
More pronunciations:
Ely: EEL-ee, as if you were describing something that was like an eel
Excelsior: Excel-zhur
Mahtomedi: Mah-toe-MEE-die
Eric Decker: STUD-lee
If I did that question-answering-mosaic thing, for my first name I'd try to find a picture of somebody plowing Elizabeth Banks. Right?
The Oldsmobiles are located in the town of Willmar (rhymes with the pig in Charlotte's Web), seat of the county of Kandiyohi (you're starting to say the word "candidate," but you're excited to notice some old friends in the midst of saying the word and instantly attempt to attract their attention with "YO! Hi!"). It's about a hundred miles west of Minneapolis, closer to South Dakota than to the Metrodome.
I find myself here deployed by the presumably strategic whim of the Obama campaign, which does NOT say "Oh, thanks so much, but you really don't have to to do this!" when you offer to volunteer. Tomorrow I'm going to be a "poll challenger" here in Willmar, with strict instructions from the campaign not actually to challenge anybody, and to make sure my Republican counterpart doesn't do so (successfully), either.
I'm not woefully unprepared for this. And even if I were, I have a packet of Handy Reference Materials and a big smile that should see me through the day, which may in fact turn out to be eventful. There's a chicken plant here, staffed, one would imagine, by many immigrants of uncertain status, and Willmar was the site of one of those Immigration and Customs Enforcement raids a year or so ago. I reckon that folks here who're undocumented will have the sense not to call attention to themselves by showing up at the polls. There are probably also several perfectly legal and registered Hispanic or Somali voters around, and that'd be where I suspect problems will arise, if any do.
I'm gonna wear a red shirt, just to try and throw people off.
When they gave me the location assignment, I was pretty thrilled, because I figured this would be a good chance to explore the state some. (Even though I'd been hoping more for north than west.) What I had forgotten was that, because of the time change this weekend, it is PITCH FRIGGING BLACK when you start a mini-road trip at 6:00 p.m. But the trip was not devoid of fun! No, there were two notable incidents:
The first was in the blink-and-you-miss-it village of Darwin, where I'm guessing town's namesake is none too popular. My headlights were burning bright and true, and I am thankful for that, because they revealed a sign on the side of the road proudly proclaiming: "TWINE BALL MUSEUM."
You could Wiki that shit, but why not instead go to the TWINE BALL'S ACTUAL WEB SITE? It is of course www.darwintwineball.com.
Oh God there's an online gift shop. I know what I want for Christmas.
The second incident took place in Litchfield. Driving through it, I was ready - for no real reason whatsoever - to proclaim it The Worst Town in America. That would've been entirely arbitrary. I didn't stop there at all. I just don't like the name, there was no twine ball, and the townscape was uninspiring and static as I drove through.
You don't appreciate how nice uninspiring and static can be until your rearview mirror springs to flashing, red-and-blue life. The cop was probably 40 or so, mustachioed (of course) and extremely chipper. I gave him my license and he took it back to his car while I rooted around for my insurance card. I was still rooting when he came back.
"Do you know what the posted speed limit is in town back there?"
"No, sir." (Not, in point of fact, a lie.)
"Okay, well, it's 30. I had you clocked at 43, sittin' in the parking lot of the Casey's there."
"Okay." I honestly don't know how fast I was going, but I was fully prepared for the number to start with a 5, so that was actually kind of a relief to me. I was also wondering if, given the fundraising records set this year, Barack might contribute to my cause, or at least refund my money so that I could.
"No luck finding that insurance card?"
"No, sir. I do have insurance, it's through GEICO..."
"You don't have anything? Expired, or anything?"
"Expired? Oh, sure, I've got one... two expired ones, last one just expired in September." Matt's seen my glove compartment and can attest to my keen filing system. There's probably proof of RX-7 insurance from 2001 in there.
"And all this information is the same now?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, I'm just gonna give you a warning on the speed. Make sure you get a current insurance card and carry that with you. You slow down now, and have a good night."
!!
Litchfield, Minnesota: The Best Town in America.
There are two clocks in my hotel room here. The one on the microwave says 12:08. The one on the alarm clock says 10:07.
The actual time is 11:05.
Someone must've thought, "Fall forward? Fall back? Is this Indiana, do we even do that?!" and panicked.
This is an unusually point-by-point post for me but is serving a therapeutic value in that I may be able to overcome my Election Day nerves - wholly unrelated to my duties tomorrow - and sleep tonight.
More pronunciations:
Ely: EEL-ee, as if you were describing something that was like an eel
Excelsior: Excel-zhur
Mahtomedi: Mah-toe-MEE-die
Eric Decker: STUD-lee
If I did that question-answering-mosaic thing, for my first name I'd try to find a picture of somebody plowing Elizabeth Banks. Right?
posted by Zac at
10:30 PM
2 Comments:
I find it shocking that there's a state out there that may in fact have weirder names than Pennsylvania. Good luck to ye tomorrow! (Nice strategic move on the red shirt. I wonder if McCain even owns any blue ties, or if he just banishes the color from his sight entirely?)
By
Crys, at 1:42 AM
I hope that things are mildly exciting for you today, but that you are spared from any rabid voters who are ticked because of long lines. Good luck!
I think as a fun ice-breaker with Minnesotans, you should have them try to pronounce Schuylkill.
By
nittanysam, at 9:09 AM
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