The premier brumal broadcast

The coming of the cold. The first hint of nip, the first thought of dusting off the drunk coat and determine which style will be the fashion of the season. Will it be Bourbon? Or whisky? Some enjoy the Porter or the Stouts, while the brave few use regular old wool without the rosy sheen of potent potables. It’s the season where decreased daylight is the least pernicious of the reductions to our lifestyle. It’s a little known fact that holiday cheer was created by early Minnesotans (especially those from International Falls) as a means to distract settlers from the fact that they were in what is what is obviously the true depiction of hell.

Now before I take a rogue hotdish® upside my increasingly cold dome, I need to clear up some misconceptions of hell. The Barnhart Concise Dictionary of Etymology (1995) is kind enough to theorize that the etymology of hell seem to spring from the old Norse word Hel, which itself derives from Proto-Germanic *halija, which means "one who covers up or hides something", which itself evolved from Proto-Indo-European *kel-, meaning "conceal". And what about winter in the North Star state isn’t concealed? Conceal seems to be the Minnesota model, from all the living things that must so tightly conceal themselves from the harsh seasons to the stereotypical passion-aggression to our beloved Conceal and Carry laws.

I might not be doing myself too many favors with the Midwest crowd here, except for the Packers fans, but I promise there’s a veiled complement in there somewhere. It’s the same reason that I migrated here a starry eyed eighteen and have remained, approaching a decade from arrival and about 5 years over schedule for departure – I am always surprised. This state, for all it conceals, is really just playing hard to get. I know few on the coasts who know just how fantastic uptown actually is in the summer. Who can forget the first time we laid on our backs in the middle of a newly seeded field, watching the meteor shower overhead in a 360° panorama, or read the stars by the 7th Street Entry, waiting to spend an evening in the house the Prince built, or drinking the blackout Becks at the Cabooze? How about being able to use the weather as a platform for more than just small talk? Or sitting by the lakes with downtown sending their protracted reflections to me I a form half way between fireworks and the northern lights? Touché MN.

As much as I’m down with geography, I’m not normally one to talk about my current state (not my state, but my state, you know what I mean) but as I begin preparations for the next phase in my life, I realize that I haven’t always taken the time to appreciate all that I have here in hell? Is that what I’ve learned? Is that really the wit and wisdom? Absolutely: Minnesota is hell, and I enjoyed my time in hell. All it takes is the time to get to know it. Know the mythological Sirens? Think of the opposite. You’ve got to look past the cacophony, ride the psychotic horse toward the burning barn and brave the -40° and the 100°+, the liberal city and blisteringly conservative fringes. “Go to Heaven for the climate and Hell for the company” Mark Twain once informed us, and I cannot agree more, but don’t spread the word too much, it’s getting crowded in the Lake of Fire as it is.