KELOLAND.com Blogs

Funny, it was one of those Super Bowl games that I couldn’t care less which team won.

When New Orleans finally did pull off the victory, I sort of felt bad for the Colts..but then I’m always doing that: hating to see the stunned and saddened faces of fans, players and coaches. That’s what rooting for the Vikings over 48 years will do to you .

Actually, I was more anxious about seeing this year’s batch of Super Bowl commercials than the game itself..and there were plenty of them squeezed in the four hours.

How about we play a little game ourselves..where you comment on your three favorite..or least favorite ads?

I’ll start:

I thought the Late Night with David Letterman promo featuring Dave and his nemesis, Jay Leno, on a couch together with Oprah Winfrey sitting between them as a mediator..was great. Considering all the barbs that have been flying between these two former friends and Leno’s return to the Tonight Show, I was shocked and tickled. I read today that Leno actually flew to New York to do the spot which seems odd since he’s promoting the competition..but it was fun to see.

My second favorite was the Snickers ad featuring the wonderful Betty White getting banged around in a pick-up football game. She is such a delight and great sport as is Abe Vigoda..seen being tackled at the end of the spot. The actor first seen in The Godfather movie must be 120 years old by now.

My next favorite is a tie between the E*Trade babies..which always crack me up, and the little kid slapping around his single mom’s date for the evening..admonishing the suitor not to touch either his mother or his Doritos.

Most disappointing?

I wasn’t impressed with the Bud Light beer can house. I saw a feature on all the effort that went into making that commercial. It sort of left me cold..so to speak.

The Coke spot featuring the Simpsons characters also didn’t do much for me. The evil ruthless billionaire, Montgomery Burns goes broke, loses everything then receives pity from Appu who hands him a bottle of  Coca Cola and all is well. It was a sixty second spot and felt like it.

Finally, I hated the Brett Favre spot showing him in ten years at age 50 still unable to decide whether he should retire from football or not. I’m still smarting enough from that interception he threw two weeks ago in New Orleans to find anything he says or does funny.

Don’t agree?

Have at it with a comment or two.

You can review the ads by CLICKING HERE.

What is the worst song ever recorded?

I got to thinking about that the other day as I was driving up to Watertown by myself and scanning the AM radio dial in search of some music instead of sports talk for a change. (Every sports talk radio host can only go about five minutes these days before bringing up how the Vikings threw away another opportunity to be playing in the Superbowl and I’m still not ready to  be reminded of that debacle against the Saints which left every Minnesota fan, who had dared to hope again, as deflated as the Hindenburg.)

The dial stopped at 910 The Ranch in Brookings which was playing old country.   I like country music okay but some of those tunes from the early days were real groaners; “If finger prints showed up on skin” by Freddie Hart always made MY skin crawl.  Same with some of the popular rock and roll songs of my generation (50’s & 60’s) which I just considered awful even though I played in a rock and roll band myself.

Topping the list was “Surfin’ Bird” by The Trashmen.  

It is regarded by some as the birth of REAL rock and roll laid open to the bare bones through pounding drums and electronic guitar racket in the key of E with a raspy repetitious satanic voice belching out non- seneschal lyrics appealing to our Neanderthal instincts insisting that the bird’s the word.

It was, I felt, playing right into the hands of those parents and preachers who believed  rock and roll was evil to the core and the snare used by Beelzebub to swoop up rebellious teenagers into his lair.

But how could you group The Trashmen in with the likes of Roy Orbison, Buddy Holly, James Brown, Elvis, Connie Francis, The Everly Brothers, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino, every singer on MoTown and all the other GENUINE  musical talents of the day?

But I hated The Trashmen for more than “Surfin’ Bird.”

I hated them because they were bad luck. I went to three of their concerts in the early 60’s and came close to getting my head bashed in at each one of them.

I’m not sure why, but in high school, I had my own version of the Scut Farkus from “A Christmas Story.” (That WAS the bully’s first name, by the way, not Scott.)

My nemesis’ name was Gary or Jerry..I can't remember. He was from  Brookings who had a reputation as a “foot”fighter.

I’d never actually seen him in action but everyone said that long before anybody had heard of martial arts, he’d mastered the technique of lifting his leg up in a split second and able to knock your block off before you know what hit you. He and his toady, Virgil, would show up at dances where my band was playing and give me the stink eye on stage.

I don’t know why they hated my guts so much but they seized every opportunity to back me into a corner and make me beg for mercy…which, I’m ashamed to admit I did on every occasion including at two Trashmen appearances at the Showboat Ballroom in Lake Benton and one at the Brookings Armory.

I never did feel the sting of Gary or Jerry's number 12’s on my nose but have also never forgotten the shame of wimping out in front of my friends as The Trashmen were playing that annoying "Papa ooh mow mow” in the background.

I don’t blame The Trashmen for their success with “Surfin’ Bird” because they were actually a pretty darn good band; doing  a lot of non-novelty top forty stuff too.

In fact, three of the original members..all pushing 70 now.. are still together and big hits in Europe where they begin another tour next month.

Wouldn’t it be something if I went to their concert in Oslo and this old guy came up threatening to kick my teeth in?

I’d probably still chicken out.

PS The new South Dakota Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum is now open on the second floor of the Pavilion. Lots more stuff to add but it's really taking shape!

I’ve had lots of awkward and embarrassing moments in my lifetime. One in particular occurred many years ago when, after a golf game, my two brothers, a friend and I stopped at the Brookings Dairy Queen for refreshments. I, of course, was elected to go up to the window to place our order. (No drive-thru or indoor seating back then.)  In the line ahead of me, taking their sweet time deciding what they wanted, were four or five huge guys who appeared to be SDSU football linemen. My big brother, Denny, rarely missed an opportunity to get a laugh at my expense, yelled out the window, “Doug, I thought you said you were going to shove those apes out of the way if they didn’t hurry up.”

I’d said no such thing, of course, but I was lucky those jocks didn’t stomp me into the ground like a used up Marlboro.

I only mention this because, over the weekend, a similar thing happened when someone, obviously trying to get me into trouble,  commented on my latest blog claiming that he or she heard me bad mouthing Keloland TV and did so on a regular basis .  What made that lie particularly offensive was that it came at a time when all of Keloland is mourning the loss of our beloved Dave Dedrick.

I have the power to delete comments but rarely do so unless it’s that annoying and prolific spam which infests popular internet blogs like buzzards on a rotting carcass.  I’m a big boy and can take criticism but will not abide computer vultures whose aim is to try stir things up just for laughs or to make me squirm…that comment was axed.

As a matter of fact, I spent a delightful couple of hours Friday night with Kelo colleagues, past and present, at a Keloland alumni reunion.

Lots of former and current employees showed up at Falls Landing to share a few beers, loads of laughs and fond memories of their time working at the station. As I made the rounds trying hard to put the right names to familiar faces, the recurring theme was “do you remember when…?”

I spent a lot of time talking with photographers and producers about some of the crazy stories I roped them into doing for Lund at Large or Eye on Keloland stories. Josh Munce likes to remind me of the one we did on the Sinai area farmer who raises camels. When it came time for someone to take a ride on that dromedary..I  grabbed Josh’s camera and started shooting as he reluctantly climbed aboard.

Madeline Shields accepted my long overdue apology for erupting in a rage when a 5 O’clock news show she produced disintegrated into a sea of technical foul-ups over which she had no control.

Had nice visits with former production people, engineers and news staff all of whom have good memories of their time at Keloland TV even though a few of them didn’t leave of their own accord.

I don’t know too many people who’ve gotten wealthy working in local television. Come to think of it, I don’t know anybody who has.

But it sure was fun hanging out and reminiscing the other night with other folks who, like me, have been immeasurably enriched by the Keloland experience.  

Whew!

Linda and I are finally back home after our abbreviated sojourn to Arizona. We were very fortunate to have excellent roads all the way..even into Iowa and South Dakota where dozens of vehicles were still sitting abandoned in the ditch and median after trying to negotiate blizzard conditions that existed only hours before.

The distance between Phoenix and Sioux Falls is exactly the same going and coming so why does the return trip seem to take twice as long?  I suppose it’s all about the anticipation and excitement factor of venturing off to new places as opposed to the reality of returning to familiar ones..but both of us were actually anxious to come home to friends and normality this time..even though our little corner of the world will never seem totally normal again without Dave Dedrick in it.

But no more dwelling on that. He packed a lot of living in his 81 years and treasured every breath and heartbeat he was given. As over 10 thousand people have stated on the “Friends of Captain 11” Facebook page, he was more than just some guy who was on TV for a long time, he was a cherished and unforgettable part of their childhood. What better legacy can one have than that?

Now it’s back to work.

Oh, wait..we’re retired.

That may be true but Linda and I both have a big job ahead of us; losing weight. It’s the same battle cry I shout every year but I sure would like to rid myself of a ton or two of extra baggage before we take our Holiday Vacations Inside Passage cruise to Alaska at the end of July.

Speaking of that tour, travel shows are going to be held all across South Dakota next week:

On Monday, February 1^st in Rapid City at the Grand Gateway Hotel with shows at 10am and 1pm.

Tuesday February 2^nd in Ft. Pierre at the Holiday Inn Express with shows at 10am and 1pm.                               

Wednesday, February 3^rd in Watertown at the Holiday Inn Express with shows at 10am and 1pm.

Thursday, February 4^th in Sioux Falls at Country Inn and Suites on east 8^th at 10am and 1pm.

I’ll be attending the shows in Watertown and Sioux Falls. They’re really fun and informative and the free coffee ain’t bad either.

To find details of the actual tour just CLICK HERE. It will ask for a keyword..which is Keloland.

And, as long as I’m shamelessly promoting; the South Dakota Music Association Rock and Roll Hall of Fame museum is finally open in the Washington Pavilion. It’s on the South end of the second floor and filled with items from South Dakota’s rock and roll music history. It’s really an impressive exhibit!

By the way, the second annual Hall of Fame induction ceremony and concert will be earlier this year and at a larger venue; the Ramkota Exhibit Hall. Judging from last May’s sell-out, you might want to get your tickets early. Information is available at the Music Association’s web site. CLICK HERE.

 Let’s see, anything else that needs plugging?

I don’t think so, but Linda tells me that the bathroom sink needs “Unplugging” so I better be attending to that while she takes down the Christmas decorations.

So long, pal.

Build an Ark in Arizona?
Noah, Noah,
Who’d build an ark in Arizona?
Brother Noah built the ark.

In came the animals two by two,
A couple Gila monsters and a Javelina too.
In came the animals three by three,
a pair of rattle snakes and a Ky-oat-tee.

Yes, folks of Keloland..Arizona is in official panic mode after receiving a couple inches of rain with even more on the way.

As I watched it come down, I kept thinking about the movie Vacation in which the Griswold’s were hauling the recently expired Aunt Edna through Phoenix perched atop the Queen Family Truckster in a pouring rain to drop the body off at her son’s back door so Clark could continue their quest to Wallyworld.

TV news shows this morning were inundated with uber concerned reporters standing in front of flooded streets interviewing cops about the dangers of hydroplaning and police frustrations at having to fish fools out of lakes that were city streets yesterday.  It’s all very dramatic.

Even though it creates hassles for those here who aren’t used to such deluges and do stupid things like trying to drive on water, for the most part the rain is really welcome. It’s been unusually dry; even for a desert and it will be good to not feel so guilty about taking a shower or washing the car.

Unfortunately for me, while I was having that guilt-free shower this morning, Linda answered a call from one of my golf buddies saying today’s round has been called off on account of rain. “But it’s sunny out.” I said. “I know, but the course is too wet for carts.”  On the bright side, my cousin called. He and his wife are staying in Mesa this year and have a place right along Painted Mountain golf course and he’d like to get a round in.

As my old chum, Dave Dedrick always says, “life is good.”

Dave was moved to Sanford hospice Tuesday. My heart starts pounding everytime the phone rings. Please pray for comfort and peace for Dave and his family.  

It’s so quiet in our neighborhood here in Fountain Hills that a MOURNING DOVE woke me up today.

Actually it was a whole flock of mourning doves perched outside my window singing that mournful rhythmic woo..woo, woo-woo-woo song.
I used to be able to configure my hands in such a way that all I had to do was blow between my thumbs and out came a pan flute sound; a perfect dove impersonation.
It never failed to impress friends and family but, alas, for some reason I can't any more.
(Where did that extra flab between my thumb and forefinger come from?) 
Anyway, it’s a sound that reminds me of spring back home.
However our South Dakota mourning doves are much more courteous. 
They usually politely wait until another dove has completed his woo woo song before blurting out their own.

Not here,  Instead of pretty perfectly-pitched solos, about 20 of them start wooing  in unison at the top of their little lungs which sounds like a concert performed by the tone deaf chorale.

I tried to take a picture of them but as soon as I pointed my camera in their direction, all but one, scattered like Tiger Woods’ golf sponsors.

In the west, they’re sometimes called Turtle Doves. Maybe that’s why this one was so slow to skee-daddle.

Today Linda and I have decided to be lazy. She has books to read and I have been neglecting my writing duties. Okay, you’re right, declaring a lazy day isn’t much of a stretch for us but since the car is running okay now, we have been scurrying off on adventures to places we haven’t been to in years or at all.

The other day we drove over to Pinnacle Peak..an area about twenty miles or so from us that is quickly filling with wealthy retirees who love big houses with grand views and lots of golf courses. It also has a pretty unique spot called the Pinnacle Peak Patio which has been waging war against vegetarianism for over fifty years. The place is huge..able to seat three thousand people or more inside or outside and serve them giant slabs of red meat grilled over several mesquite fires.

The Patio..as it’s called.. was empty the afternoon we showed up and smelled like a half century of sawdust, dead smoke and spilled beer. But the most noticeable features are the thousands of neckties hanging from the ceilings and business cards stapled to every square inch of wall space.

We sauntered up and ordered a drink and, even though he’s told the story of the neckties a thousand times to tourists, our friendly barkeep was more than willing to share it one more time for us.

It turns out that in 1957, the owner wanted a steak house that was different from those high falootin’ places down in Phoenix..so he instituted a no necktie policy for patrons and promptly (so the story goes) cut off the tie an unsuspecting customer and, to make his point, hung it on a rafter for all to see. Well, the customer was a good sport about the whole thing and even gave the owner his business card to hang up their beside his bisected neckwear. That was 1.1 million ties ago..which also may account for part of the odd aroma inside.

I’m back playing golf on Wednesdays with a bunch of guys I met 4 years ago at the American Legion Club in Fountain Hills. I was a guest of our daughter’s neighbor who introduced me around. Because it’s a fraternal club, it’s immune from the statewide ban on smoking and these vets and their wives and girlfriends LOVE to smoke.

It doesn’t take long inside for me to feel like I’ve started again without taking a single drag. I do bring along a little Black & Mild cigar on occasion just so I feel like part of the group.

But who cares? These veterans earned the right to smoke in their own club if they want to.

On the golf course yesterday, one of those vets..a giant of a man by the name of Lee who wears a USMC cap and chews on an 8 inch long cigar all day..was on the tee box when two helicopters flew over. Lee turned to his pal and fellow Vietnam Veteran, Mike, and said, “That sure brings back a few memories eh pal?”

So, let ‘em smoke and drink and cuss if they feel like it.

These guys have worn the uniform and served  this country with honor and I’m honored they let me hang out with them!

Sunday was another magnificent day here in the desert; a few low clouds and about 70 degrees outside yet I spent most of it INSIDE.

We had daughter Christy over to the condo to share a delicious dinner Linda had prepared then we all plopped down on the couch to digest and watch the NFL  playoffs.

“You know how lucky you are, don’t you, that that the women in your life don’t mind watching football?” Christy said.

I do realize it, of course, but neither of them is all that interested unless it’s Minnesota or Arizona playing.

As exciting as the Packers-Cardinals game was, both Linda and Christy had to take several breaks from the game to sit out on the patio to enjoy their wine.

Christy and Linda enjoy a few moments away from the football game.



That's our little home away from home in the back.

We won’t be straying too far from our place today either.

I drove my sputtering ol’ red Lincoln to the garage early this morning and left her in the hands of strangers wearing mechanic’s coveralls. I now am completely at their mercy and feeling incredibly vulnerable.

“Yeah, Mr. Lund..this is Stiffy over at Mike’s Repair. We ran the computer codes on that car of yours and it looks like you’ve got a busted exhaust linkage and a faulty valve train dispenser. We put it up on the sky hook and found an oil leak from the transmission differential case. You’re probably looking at 18 hundred bucks and a couple days. Would you like us to go ahead and fix those things?”

“You’ll just have to believe that they’re honest people,” my naïve little, always optimistic, ever trusting wifey says.”

But what does she know about cars and the ethics of mechanics who, like doctors, possess the god-like power to heal and you don’t?

I often tell the story of when Linda had car trouble one day. She managed to limp into a garage and told the guy that it just keeps killing on her.

“Go ahead and have a cup of coffee at the café next door,” he said. “I’ll check out what’s wrong and let you know.”

Before she had finished her second cup..the mechanic walked in.

“Well, what’s the story?” Linda said.

“Ah, no big deal,” he said. “Just crap in the carburetor.”

“Oh really?” Linda said.

“How often do I have to do that?”

“I’ve told that joke quite a few times, often when Linda is in the audience, and she always laughs along.

I’m a lucky guy.

I just hope Ol’ Red’s problem is as simple as crap in the carburetor.

Oh, wait..it doesn’t have a carburetor.

Received the above from a friend in Sioux Falls this morning which made me laugh out loud.

Yes, we are counting our blessings at missing the record snow and cold back home while our biggest concern here is whether or not we need to take a jacket to the golf course.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

The same friend that sent the cartoon is keeping an eye on our house and says there’s a huge snow drift in the driveway.

I’d made arrangements with my neighbors who have snowblowers to keep our sidewalks clear and the city’s snow watchdogs at bay..but our driveway is huge and difficult to plow. It would be really pushing the limits of good-neighborliness to ask them to tackle that difficult task in our absence.

Before leaving for the desert, we told the guy across the street that he could use our driveway for his pickup while we were gone. Of course that would mean keeping it plowed out. But I think he realized what a pain that's going to be and has decided to take his chances leaving it parked on the street.

This afternoon, I have to find a place to fix the big old red Lincoln..which apparently didn’t like the last tank of gas I bought because it began missing, spitting and sputtering the day after we arrived. I’ve since filled her with high octane, put in some STP octane boost and fuel injector cleaner fluid but nothing has helped.

So now, even though I spent nearly a thousand dollars at the garage before we left to make sure she was in good shape for the trip…she barely runs. I’m hoping it’s something as simple as a fuel filter, faulty injector or the oxygen sensor and not something deep in the old girl’s bowels that will force a major decision.

It has me rethinking the idea of flying out here next time and renting a car.

But then that might mean I’d have to essentially pose naked in one of those new ultra revealing airport security machines which give TSA screeners the power of Superman to see the color of Lois Lane’s panties.

Yes, I know, in our world it’s better to inconvenience and humiliate “everyone” rather than make a few people mad by profiling.

Thank you terrorists, with your shoe bombs and exploding underpants, for making air travel as big a pain in the butt as a 30 degree below zero day on the Great Plains.

By the way, the coldest I’ve ever been was in Williston, North Dakota in 1967 when the temperature plunged to minus 46.

Oh, there was that other time when I gave the wrong answer to Linda when she asked, “do these pants make me look fat?”

It remember it was REAL cold that night too.