Remember the first Wednesday of June? No? Well, this is the last one. Drink it in. The next one’s the Fourth, and we all know what the Fourth means: summer’s over. But we’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it.
Today in buzzland history:
It’s the birthday of Rudy “Rudolph” Perpich, governor of Minnesota. Among his notable accomplishments: he sent the National Guard to calm down the bitter Spam Strike of 1986, and he signed the law that bumped the drinking age up to 21. It’s a cliché, yes, but it’s still a reasonable argument: if the state will trust you to herd strikers with a rifle when you’re 18, why won’t they trust you with a beer?
Perpich also approved the lottery, another hallmark of Minnesota life that was bitterly contested by some. Nowadays we’re used to the state running ad campaigns that target the innumerate with dreams of sudden boon. We’re used to the G running the numbers racket.
Admission: I’ve bought a few lottery tickets in my day. It’s hard to avoid the allure of $100 million after taxes. You think of the house by the lake, a bowling alley in the basement, widescreens in the walk-in linen closet, an underground subway to the garage, which is filled with classic cars and pinball machines and a walk-in closet with its own walk-in closet, which has a widescreen TV. I’d entertain that elaborate fantasy, retooling it, debating the merits of new construction with house-wide Ethernet vs. old lakeside houses with a wireless network, right up until the moment they announced the first number of the winning ticket. If I had 2, the winning number was 934253. And then I’d look around at what I had, my family and house and dog and the fact that I had at least three weeks’ worth of Omaha Steaks in the fridge, and I’d feel content and centered. Maybe Rudy was a visionary: by holding out these false promises, then dashing them with brusque cruel glee, people will reconnect with the things that truly matter. Like the Gopher 5, which has much better odds.
For some odd reason, I bought most of those tickets around the time the paper was sold. Coincidence. Really: I was making a rational investment decision. How much interest can you get from one dollar, anyway?
It’s the 30th anniversary of the Congdon murder, one of the most famous crimes Minnesota history. It’s oddly unsatisfying, though; the accused killer was such a schlump. Read more here.
Three days to the iPhone. I still don’t want one. From what I hear, the iPhone does not, as rumored, exude a universal pheromone that makes you appear six feet tall with a full head of hair. Overhyped? I think so. As I’ve said, I’m perfectly happy with my phone, which has the MUTE switch conveniently located so it turns itself off whenever I put it in my pocket. Like I really need to take a call from anyone.
Morning topics, then: the drinking age in Minnesota, the wisdom of the lottery, and memories of the Congdon case. Oh – you’ll be wanting your daily holiday, right? It’s Paul Bunyan Day AND National Sunglasses Day. Somehow we avoided a lottery-funded state advertising campaign that put Paul in Ray-Bans, stuttering like Max Headroom. thereby proving our state had Attitude. Not a good idea. You want to get on the tree-biter’s bad side? Didn’t think so.
Where did Buzzy go?
How can I know what the weather that my relatives in the Cities are having, without the Anthropomorphic Weather Triangle?