Rambling Rhodes

Oh, why not.

Nick Coleman keeps writing 'em, so I may as well fisk 'em.

The worst news in Minnesota Thursday --judging by the top of the front page, where bad news usually goes -- was the imminent arrival of a bait shop at the Mall of America.

For Nick, that constitutes pretty much where he gets all his news which, if you know the Star-Tribune at all, is kinda sad. Besides that, for Nick, everything is bad news. He could read a story about how a truck hauling puppies crashed into an orphanage and that, miraculously, in addition to no injuries, every orphan ended up with a puppy, Nick would still no doubt find some way to heap scorn on the story.

I agree with the Star Tribune editors who decided to "play" the bait shop threat as the top bad news story of the day. This is grim stuff.

What's grim stuff? The column that's now underway? If so, yes, it is grim stuff.

Minnesota used to be the kind of place where you got your bait from freckle-faced kids who tore up their mom's flower garden and sold crawlers for 50 cents a dozen, or by wandering into a back room at a service station to scoop shiners out of a wash tub. I even wrote a story for this newspaper in 1981 about a guy who invented a Minnow machine that would dispense a cup of live minnows for a buck and a half.

Nick Coleman. He gets the story, so YOU don't have to! I don't know which is sadder; that he had to write such a story in his past, or that he remembers it with apparent pride. I had to write my fair share of fluff pieces starting out, and I do my best to forget about them.

All pretty much gone now. Along with a lot of the fish.

What Nick fails to mention, in Nick's mention-failing way, is that, in many places, fish populations are making a comeback.

Now we have plans for a 300,000-square-foot bait shop at the Mall of America and a limit of six walleyes, except where the limit is four, or two.

Anyone see a connection?

Just you, Nick. Just you.

You've heard of Big Tobacco. Now we have Big Bait, a Missouri-based big box sporting goods outfit called Bass Pro Shops, which may provide the anchor (so to speak) of phase II of the mall. And when I say Big Bait, I am talking a bait shop as large as 200 average homes that is part of a chain that grosses $1.6 billion a year.

They make money. They're EEEEEEEEEEIVLEEEEEE! By the way, there are major differences between a fishing pro shop and a bait shop. Ten points to those of you who can name five.

That is a lot of fatheads. And I don't just mean a variety of minnows.

If anyone can speak with authority about fatheads, it would be Nick Coleman.

A super-sized outdoors store is nothing new, of course. It's been almost eight years since Nebraska-based Cabela's moved into Minnesota with a 150,000-square-foot store in Owatonna.

Which, of course, begs the question: what the hell is he moaning about this one for? If Cabela's has been in Minnesota for eight years, and has been by all appearances a great success, what is this fathead complaining about?

Cabela has stores in East Grand Forks and Rogers, now, too. I visited the Owatonna store when it opened and found it very interesting, like visiting a religious shrine from a religion that was not mine.

Nick's idea of a cool store is an outlet that specializes in pictures of people scowling and looking displeased. I imagine that's kind of what his house probably looks like.

Don't worry. I am not going to go all vegan on you. I eat meat, I love walleye and I have shot a few whitetails who didn't know the password.

You go, girlfriend! *snap, snap*

But Cabela's was too much for me: There were so many dead animals on the walls that I kept my voice down and walked softly, as if I were in a temple of Thanatos, the god of death. To be complete, the place just needed a few human heads.

I wonder if Nick has ever visited a natural history museum in his life. Or, hell, the Minnesota Science Museum alone has more stuffed animals on display than Cabelas. I wonder if Nick walks with solemnity when he walks through those exhibits.

Now comes Bass Pro, nearly six football fields' worth of fishing poles and outdoors gear intended to make it easy for every computer-bound stock analyst in the state to imagine himself as an intrepid "sportsman" without ever having to stop off in Motley or Milaca in search of a crappie minnow.

That's your classic Nick Coleman "worst case scenario." He can write a huffy column bemoaning the possibility that Motley minnow sales could take a hit thanks to Bass Pro. This is just my own "Ryan Rhodes Knows Stuff" aside, but having fished using minnows, I've noticed that the minnow mortality rate, even when not in transit, seems pretty high. So, although I'd probably buy a pole and tackle from Bass Pro, I'd still opt to buy my minnows as close to my fishing destination as possible. Too much potential for minnow-related deaths and spillage en route.

I blame it on the creeping Bubba-fication of Minnesota, which includes NASCAR billboards, exploding turkey fryers and back-yard hot tubs.

Yup, if you enjoy fishing or hunting, you're a back-woods Bubba. It's statements like this that just make me want to biff Coleman like he's never been biffed in his life. And since when is a back-yard hot tub a symbol of Bubba-ism? It's this kind of double-standard that Nick excels at. He rails against stereotypes when they're applied to, say, illegal immigrants or the homeless, but then he'll turn around and say that people who live in New Ulm are beer hall lushes, or that if you enjoy hunting and fishing, you're a dimwitted NASCAR Bubba. Politicians are fat cats, except for when the politician is his little brother. Nick's such a sour, bitter man, and he's been sour and bitter for so many years, he doesn't even know why he's sour and bitter any more.

This is not how my friend Howard would have wanted it.

There. THAT should have been the lead sentence to this column. Hell, it should have been the headline. STOP THE PRESSES! Nick Coleman had a friend!

Howard was a neighbor when I lived in Rochester in the late 1970s, a retired mechanic who knew where the trout were in southeastern Minnesota and who had rigged up an electric cord to a metal rod with a wooden handle. When Howard plugged in his "Worm Finder" and jabbed the metal end into the ground, our feet would tingle and my hair (yes, I had some) would stand up. But something else happened, too: Stunned worms would leap from their underground lairs and roll drunkenly on the grass, making easy pickings on our way to a trout hole.

One wonders if Nick is also a proponent of, say, chucking a stick of dynamite into a lake and plucking the stunned fish into the boat when they bob to the surface. See, to me, if I were to define a Bubba, I'd think about it for a second and then say: "Well, if you create a machine, for the sole purpose of shocking worms out of the ground, you might be a Bubba." / Jeff Foxworthy off /

And I didn't know Nick used to live in Rochester. *shudder* I need a bath.

Now that was real outdoorsman-ship. I miss Howard. He wouldn't have been caught dead at a mall.

No, but he would probably have been caught dead when he upped the amperage on his worm shocker.

You there! Improved Economy At The Back Of The Room.

I saw this picture and caption on CNN.com just now. It cracked me right up.

Blogging Cons and Pros

It's been a mixed week for me when it comes to blogging. First, there was the kinda, sorta creepy update to the IBM double door story. Then, yesterday, a comment I left in jest at one of my daily reads actually earned me a chastising e-mail from my company president. Which. . . whoever forwarded that comment on to the Prez, let me just say. . . "Hellloooooooo! Comedy/Satire/Parody/Humor. . . familiarize yourself with these concepts before you start taking every comment you read seriously.

On the plus side, I did receive an e-mail from a friend from Tokyo who I hadn't heard from in about 13 years after he discovered my blog, which was way cool.

Door Update

In a creepy development, I've been informed that the double doors from this post do now lock. Why this was not the case weeks ago, I'm not entirely certain.

This is yet another outstanding reason why I should really consider blogging anonymously.

The Truth About Cats and Dogs

Over the weekend, my girlfriend's dad went and got himself into a car accident, which led to a series of unfortunate events, as Lemony Snicket would write.

Since her dad broke roughly every bone in his body, except for maybe his coccyx (which isn't used much any more anyways--thank you very much evolution), one of the most immediate unfortunate events was that we had to take care of his dog, a German Schnauzer named Sam.

Did I mention my girlfriend and I have two cats? My girlfriend and I have two cats, named Kit and Kat. What follows is my take on what was going on in the minds of the three animals upon encountering each other for the first time.

SAM: Oh boy oh boy oh boy! A new house! New people! New smells! I'm so excited, excited, excited! I must smell everything! I need doggie Ritalin! I can't concentrate on anything!

KIT: Ho hum. The litter box needs cleaning. . . AGAIN. That owner of mine is so not on top of things. Oh well, I may as well go upstairs to be admired.

(Sam meets Kit as he rounds the corner coming up from the basement in a sort of matter meets anti-matter reaction)

KIT: HOLY HELL! What the heck is that! I'm hissing uncontrollably here! I've never hissed before in my life, but I'm apparently really good at it! I am so not happy about whatever that thing is that's about my size but is clearly not me!

SAM: Oh boy, oh boy oh boy! A FRIEND! Wait a minute, I'm getting the distinct feeling my new friend doesn't like me! Maybe if I get closer!

KIT: Attack! Attack! Attack! ARGH! My front claws have been removed! I keep forgetting! Oh well, I can still dish out a fierce muzzle pummeling. Take that! And that! And that!

SAM: Oh boy, oh boy oh boy! He's high-fiving my nose! I just know we're going to be the bestest of friends!

KAT: *yawn* Hey, what's all the commotion? I was just napping on the bed when I heard. . . HOLY HELL! What the heck is that! I'm hissing uncontrollably here! I've never hissed before in my life, but I'm apparently really good at it! I am so not happy about whatever that thing is that's about my size but is clearly not me!

SAM: Oh boy, oh boy oh boy! ANOTHER NEW FRIEND! I'm so excited, I'm going to let out a little yip!

*YIP!*

KIT and KAT: HOLY HELL! It spoke! It must die! Attack! Attack! Attack! Curses! Our lack of claws clearly is hindering our ability to vanquish this new, unexpected foe! We must regroup! To the basement! We'll plot our next move from there! Either that, or we'll hide there until the infernal beast departs!

SAM: Oh boy, oh boy oh boy! Where did my new friends go? What's that smell? I'm going to lick myself! Oh boy, oh boy oh boy!

And the good news? Despite a week of respite, my girlfriend and I will probably have to watch Sam again in the fairly near future.

I'm sure the cats can't wait.

UPDATE: I thought I'd mention that the following women are hot: Namrata Singh Gujral. Cerina Vincent. Lauren Lee Smith. Tawny Cypress. Jayma Mays. Rose Byrne. Natalia Tena. Carice van Houten. Sonya Walger. Michelle Ryan. Alice Braga. Kristen Stewart. Katie Leung. Vera Jordanova. Mia Maestro. Ninel Conde.

Who's going to hell?

Everyone who submitted an entry to this Fark Photoshop contest.

And of course me for laughing at them.

My First Ever "Not Safe For Work Post"

Based off an e-mail I received from my sister-in-law, I thought I'd post my first ever not safe for work entry. Be advised: the extended entry features exposed female breasts, and is photographic evidence as to why the Chinese routinely outperform Americans when it comes to math.

This Just In: Nick Coleman Still Sucks

Media bias against guns is a given. And media ignorance about guns is even more of a given. Ask your run-of-the-mill journalist to explain what an "assault" weapon is, and you'll likely be give the wrong answer. Which of course means that the media-consuming public is generally woefully misinformed, and often outright misled, about guns. I certainly don't claim to be an expert about guns, but I've fired a variety, and I'm for the right to own and bear arms, although I start to get squeamish when it comes to "Street Sweepers" and guns that tout "finger-print proof" handles, but that's just me. But, I own my own guns, for my own personal reasons, so there you have it. I'm betting, however, that people like, say. . . Nick Coleman, haven't owned a gun in their life, and would probably wet their pants and shit themselves if they found one pointed in their direction, or even if they wandered into a gun show, or probably if they even imagined holding a gun.

State's Exhibit No. 1 in the murder trial of Harry Jerome Evans is a 15-ounce piece of cold steel whose history is a mystery.

Perhaps Nick would be more comfortable if the gun was warmed up a bit? Simmer it over a stove perhaps? One wonders if Nick took the gun's temperature before he determined it was cold. Just a guess here, but I'm betting it was probably at room temperature.

All we know for sure about State's Exhibit No. 1 is that it is an old, beat-up Smith & Wesson Model 37, a .38-caliber five-shot revolver that was emptied in an alley on the East Side of St. Paul at about 2 a.m. on May 6, ending the life of St. Paul Police Sgt. Jerry Vick. Once upon a time, it was called a Chief's Special. But it became an officer's nightmare.

Dum, dum, DUMMMMMMMM!

Two weeks into the trial of Evans, the most important questions about State's Exhibit No. 1 remain unanswered:

Who was carrying it that night? Who pulled the trigger? Who threw it onto a sidewalk between two homes on Reaney Avenue, leaving it in plain sight next to a drain pipe, where it was found after sunup when police combed the area near Erick's Bar for evidence and practically tripped over the murder weapon.

Nick Coleman. . . Attorney-at-law!

The trial may provide the answers. Or maybe not.

The U.S. justice system. . . MEH.

"Potent, highly concealable, top of the line." Those are some of the qualities attributed to the Model 37 in an online sale, where you can pick up one for under $300. Another feature: You can hide it in your pants easily, especially if you are going out for a night on the town and are afraid you will bump into an undercover officer or two while you are relieving yourself.

Because you'd be more enticed by an online gun sale that touts the gun as "Unwieldly, weak as a newborn fawn, about 125th on the list of guns we'd recommend. Your's for only $7,000." You know what else you can hide in your pants easily? A knife. An asp. A condom. A wallet. A sling shot, according to Bart Simpson. Newsflash: Hand guns are concealable! Film at 11.

I should note here that I think the death of Sgt. Vick is deplorable, but Coleman's attempt to position Vick's death as an anti-gun diatribe is pathetic, as is most of Nick's writing in general.

On Friday, the jury heard more testimony from Evans' friend, Antonio Kelly, who was arrested with Evans after Vick's killing but who has become the star witness against his erstwhile pal. Kelly testified that he and "Mo" went to a karaoke club and -- answering a question that was the subject of speculation in the courthouse -- performed a song by country star Tim McGraw and rapper Nelly. Sadly, Kelly (his nickname is "Oil") could not remember the name of the tune. But maybe it was "Over and Over," which has this chorus:

"I think about it over and over again;

I replay it over and over again

And I can't take it, I can't shake it."

For those not familiar with Nick's writing "style," this is his was of straying away from anything resembling a point. He thinks he's being creative and smart and, sadly, there are apparently readers who actually think he's creative and smart. People also believe the Holocaust never happened, and that man never walked on the moon. Oh, and the earth is flat.

Maybe it's about someone dying in an alley. I've never heard it. But I know the feeling.

Nick knows what it feels like to die in an alley? What is he? Catwoman?

One mystery: Patrons at the karaoke club were "wanded" -- electronically checked for weapons. Where was the battered Smith & Wesson Model 37? No one has said yet.

Quick poll: who here has been wanded? I have. Several times, in fact. Practically every visit to an airport earns me a wanding. And I'm here to tell you that, even at airports, a wanding can be a half-hearted exercise on the part of the wander. I can imagine that a wanding at a Karaoke bar is even less so. If someone really wanted to hide a .38 from the all-seeing wand, particularly if they may, perhaps, know the person doing the wanding, I imagine it's pretty easy to do so. But Nick Coleman, attorney-at-law, doesn't seem to understand any of that.

Oil said Friday that he did not see a gun on Mo that night. Or so he said before apparently contradicting himself later, when he testified that Evans raised his shirt to flash the butt of the gun at the undercover officers who got into an argument with Mo and Oil outside Erick's Bar.

Anyone here guess Nick's point yet? Anyone at all? Is he making a case for the defendant? Against guns? Against Karaoke?

As long as Nick is playing the role of Columbo here, here's my two cents. Isn't it possible "Oil" didn't see a gun on Mo that night until he raised his shirt and flashed it? Nevermind. Nick seems determined to make a case to his readership (which, sad to say, he actually does have) and play the role of attorney to the accused, which is always such a good idea for journalists.

Did Vick or his partner that night, Sgt. Joe Strong, see the gun?

Oil didn't know for sure, but he said one of the officers, the big one (which would be Vick), seemed to back down and said, "That's cool, that's cool. You ain't gonna go there."

Minutes later, Vick was dead, his service pistol, still in its holster, on the pavement. The empty murder weapon -- spent cartridges tossed in the grass -- lay on a sidewalk between two houses nearby, waiting for sunup. Its work was done.

The gun was waiting for sunup. It even set the alarm clock. Bad writing. . . such. . . bad. . . writing.

Because its serial number has been illegally altered, it is impossible to tell much more about State's Exhibit No. 1.

Quick question here, but can a gun's serial number be LEGALLY altered?

Other than it is old, so old that someone covered the gun's worn handle in black tape to give a better grip.

I've never actually heard of black tape being used for a better grip, although I'm admittedly not a scholar of guns. However, I'm wondering if the black tape had more to do with preventing fingerprints than providing a better grip.

And that it was entered into evidence at the start of the trial after Ramsey County District Judge Kathleen Gearin first made sure that it was empty and locked, a steel cable running down the 17/8-inch barrel, preventing the cylinder from being closed.

Yeah, because most courts like to have a freshly-loaded gun with the safety off entered as evidence.

"It's secure," the judge reassured the jury, awkwardly displaying Exhibit No. 1 from the bench.

On what basis does Nick decide the judge was "awkwardly displaying" the gun? Was the judge wearing clown shoes? Stick their pinkie finger down the barrel? What made it awkward.

Secure, but still "serviceable," as a firearms expert described it. Somehow, "serviceable" does not seem like the right word for a gun that was used in the dark of night to kill a cop.

If Nick were a firearms expert, I imagine he'd deem the weapon "cop-killerable," or "officer-smiting-worthy" or "dark-of-night-police-shootable."

Just a cold hunk of stupid steel, worthless and useless, until it cut short a life.

It's still cold! Take that fucker out of the freezer already! And it's worthless. . . except that you can buy it for under $300. And it's useless. . . except for when it's used. Nick, a lighter is useless until the moment it's used to light something. And, where's your freakin' point again? Somewhere near Oregon?

A neat little gun, a nifty little gun. Guns don't kill police officers. People kill police officers.

With guns.

Oh, that's right: it's an anti-GUN column. I nearly forgot.

"The 37 Chief's Special is a 'must have' where deep concealment is an absolute," it says on the Internet site. Yes, yes, a handy thing to have.

Especially when you go out for karaoke.

I don't know. . . I've been to more than a few karaoke bars where I'd liked to have had a pistol handy.