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Guido sausage dancingMany of us are guilty as charged when it comes to swiping an occasional piece of sausage off the stove when our wives aren’t looking. Heck, from the number of new holes I’ve had to punch into my belt over the past year, I might even qualify as an artery-hardened criminal.

This past week I’ve really enjoyed following the story of Guido, the Klement Sausage Co.’s Racing Italian Sausage costume that disappeared following a night of bar-hopping in Cedarburg, a suburb of Milwaukee. If you’ve never lived in the greater Milwaukee area…and you don’t count yourself among the dozens of die-hard Brewer’s fans, then you might find yourself, “What in the heck is a racing sausage?”

The Famous Klement’s Racing Sausages, which also include Bret Worst the Bratwurst, Stosh the Polish Sausage, Frankie Furter the Hot Dog and Cinco the Chorizo, are a popular sight at Brewers games and local events.

To say this story had it all is a massive understatement—Beer, giant sausages, a pun-filled apology, and a year’s supply of mustard. Heck, the only thing that could have made it better would have been for Greenbay native Tony Shalhoub to dust off his “Monk” routine and solve the mystery.  Had Monk taken the case,  then this would clearly have been the biggest mystery to hit Brew City since a local artist secretly dumped a statue on the River Walk to keep the Bronze Fonze from getting lonely.

While I hated to see this case come to an end, I do relish the fact that good conquered evil once again and those involved decided to right this wrong, even if they appear to be less than willing to come forward and accept the consequences. Earlier today someone dropped the costume off at a Cedarburg bar along with this note explaining how it all went down…

Sausage Note

You can read the rest of the story in the Milwaukee Journal.

Ever wonder where mad scientists and serial killers shop for their tools of the trade?

Well, wonder no longer. Today while searching out fun things to do in Milwaukee I encountered the super store of science…American Science & Surplus–and my life will never be the same.

From Korean War era athletic supporters to beakers, microscopes, monochromators, and enormous origami, this place has it all.

Our quest started out simply enough…searching for a razor-sharp scalpel that our 16-year-old needs to slice through a starfish as part of her Biology class.

While it may be hard to believe, your run-of-the-mill box stores simply don’t carry scalpels. In fact their clerks often look at you rather strangely when you ask what aisle they keep the surgical tools on.

This clearly isn’t the case at American Science & Surplus. In fact, the pink-haired and multiply pierced girl behind the counter was more than happy to lead us straight to a wide selection of scalpels, machettes, and sea monkey tanks.

If you’re ever in need of a unique shopping experience…or are simply in the market for a giant whoopie cushion, then this is a place you must check out.

I’ll be danged…winter is almost here.

I knew that it was just around the corner when my wife started asking/demanding a fire in the woodstove each evening. Another tell-tale sign was when the family of squirrels living in our yard began putting on a little extra “padding” for winter–and swelled up to the size of a herd of small terriers.

The object of my envy.

The thought of a long winter in Wisconsin really wasn’t bothering me that much until late last week when I began to feel a little peculiar. At first I wasn’t sure what it was..then it hit me. I had a case of “Shanty” envy.

You see, for the last couple of weeks, men all across town have been dragging out their ice shanties, or in some cases, building a brand new one.

For those of you who don’t live north of the Mason-Dixon Line, ice shanties are kinda like outhouses on skis–even down to the hole in the floor–that men use when they engage in the sacred art of ice fishing.

Now, having grown up in the midwest (before heading farther south) I’ve done my share of bass fishing, I’ve caught an ocean full of bluegill, and even dined on a carp or two in my day. But, I’ve never experienced the supreme tranquility that one finds when sitting alone in an outhouse on a big ol’ frozen lake.

According to the ol’ boys over at www.IceShanty.com, besides the whole icy-zen aspect of the sport, nothing tastes quite as good as a fish that’s only a couple of degrees away from the frozen food section.

It’s guys like Big E-REZ who, when asked on an ice fishing message board how panfish caught in January tasted (compared to those caught in, say May) responded with a poetic, “I think “heaven” is a good description.” Purer words have never been posted on an ice fishing web site and my desire to join this elite group of fishermen soared.

I think you can now clearly understand why I’m feeling a little jealous of my neighbors. It won’t be long until the day that the ice finally measures 14 inches thick–and they can leave all the troubles of the world behind as they hit the ice.

As for me, I think that this year is a little out of the question. Yep, I guess I’ll just have to wait another year to find out if there is an ice shanty in my future. Until then, I’ll just have to try and fill the void in my life with frozen fish-sticks and trips to the ice rink with my girls…

The other day I was watching a show on one of the roughly two thousand cable channels that have mysteriously found their way into my DishNetwork guide over the past few years, when I was overcome by a sense of destiny.

Matt Gergeni Midlife CrisisI’d hate to blog you down in all the smarmy details—and since the aforementioned incident occurred at roughly 1 a.m.—and in light of the minor fact that I am still slightly confused about what show I was watching at the time of this miraculous event—all I can say with any real certainty is that my life may never be the same because of what I experienced that night/morning.

Admittedly, the jury is still out over whether or not I had an honest-to-goodness epiphany or if it was simply a case of time-delayed sugar overload that night, but one thing became crystal clear (cue the cheesy trumpet music) I should start riding my bike!

I, one of the least athletic and health conscious people that I know, felt the need to reintroduce my aging body to an activity that I’d started when I was about 5-years-old…and then given up roughly 11 years later on the day that I received my driver’s license.

The whole incident left me overwhelmed and wondering: Could this be the crucial turning point in all men’s lives that I’ve always heard so much about? And, if this is a midlife crisis, can someone please tell me why I find myself compelled to ride my little red bicycle around town and not a sleek Italian sports car?

Trying to suppress what could possibly be the world’s first case of midlife confusion, I eventually convinced myself that a daily bike adventure would give my life a new-found purpose. I’d lose the 10-or-so pounds I may have packed on while unemployed…and I’d get to buy some cool new outfits to wear during my cycling adventures.

Was I really lucky enough to be having a crisis that is both fiscally sound and healthy–yet still provides an ego boosting alternative to purchasing a pricey sports car?

It’s now been three days since the life changing event that began in front my TV that fateful night and I am happy to report that so far, I have held true to my television induced vision.  Each morning I have mounted my trusty bicycle and cruised the mean streets of Waupaca throwing caution to the wind and laughing in the face of any form of danger that I might encounter along the way.

However, one little thing still remains unclear—What was the television show that sparked my desire to reclaim my youth from the seat of my bike?

Having cross referenced the time of my alleged epiphany with my handy TV Guide, I can now say with a high degree of certainty that it was either Pee Wee’s Big Adventure or footage from the Tour de France.

So, as you can imagine, my dilemma now is, should I buy spandex shorts and a clingy yellow cycling shirt…or a pair of white platform shoes and a red bowtie?

Oh well, at least I wasn’t watching an old episode of Bosom Buddies.

Sometimes it’s painfully clear that time isn’t on our side. Heck, it’s almost as if it is conspiring against us as we try to cram a whole life’s worth of living into the hours between work and sleep.

Preparing for the Polar Bear Plunge

Taking a quick break in my rigorous training schedule.

I guess it is simply one of life’s little lessons that we all must face as we grow older.

Ever since learning that our time here in the Upper Midwest is limited, I have been troubled by a single persistent question…Have I truly experienced life in Wisconsin?

It isn’t that I have squandered my time in America’s Dairyland. On the contrary. We have been blessed with good friends in Wisconsin, a peaceful place to live and a chance to experience temperatures below -35 Farenheit. Despite all of this, I still have a nagging feeling that something is missing from our Wisconsin experience.

Late last night I wracked my brain trying to figure out what I have neglected. In a fit of exasperation I finally broke down, grabbed a sheet of paper and made a list of all the true Wisconsin experiences that I’ve had since moving up here:

  1. Ate lutefisk,
  2. Drove a car that wasn’t completely paid for out on a frozen lake and tried to catch a fish,
  3. Danced a polka (in a public setting),
  4. Drank water straight from a good ‘ol Wisconsin “bubbler”,
  5. Went to Oshkosh B’Gosh
  6. Successfully navigated a snowmobile from one pub…to another
  7. Set foot on the hallowed ground that is Lambeau Field and watched the Packers…almost win,
  8. Joined a Curling league
  9. Ate cheese curd that was so fresh it squeaked
  10. Experienced the notorious Wisconsin Hodag

Could there actually be more to do in Wisconsin?

Around 3 a.m. I had what could only be deemed as an honest-to-goodness epiphany. While surfing the Internet for all things Wisconsin, I ran across a little blurb on a message board that may just hold the missing piece to this personal puzzle.

Every year on January 1, out by the Wheel House Restaurant (the one where everyone tacks dollar bills to the ceiling using a quarter) a bunch of burly guys (and women) cut a hole in the ice and hundreds of hearty Wisconsinites strip down to their skivvies and jump into the frozen lake.

Could a Polar Bear Plunge be what’s missing from my Wisconsin experience?

I immediately woke my wife and excitedly explained to her how we could BOTH fully immerse ourselves in all that is Wisconsin.

After patiently reminding me how our medical insurance runs out on Dec. 31 and how it would be a cold day somewhere much warmer than Wisconsin before she would wear a swimsuit outside in January, let alone jump into a frozen lake, my lovely bride suggested that I try something more sensible and less dangerous like the ski jumps over in Iola.

Not one to be easily deterred by simple sarcasm, or lacking in personal insulation, this is clearly a fleeting opportunity that I cannot easily dismiss.

Adorned only in my rebel flag Speedos, I envision myself undaunted by the frigid temperature—ready to take the plunge—and embrace all that is Wisconsin.

So, what do ya’ll think?

Follow Up…

OK, so it took longer than I had anticipated to fulfill my dream of plunging into near-freezing water. However, I wanted to let ya’ll know that on Jan. 1, 2012 I did take part in the Polar Bear Plunge into Lake Michigan here in Milwaukee! My life is now complete…

The day has come, I can procrastinate no longer, today is the day my wife will once again release me into the wilds of the urban shopping jungle. With only four terrifying words to serve as my guide—I must somehow “Find Her Something Nice.”

I can guarantee you this won’t end well.

Like an adventure pulled straight from the scripts of Man vs. Wild, it is a challenge I am forced to face each year. One that is littered with hidden pitfalls and an overwhelming possibility that someone, or something will be beaten, gutted and eaten raw.

Channeling my inner Bear Grylls, it is clear that I have little choice but to face near-certain demise armed only with my wit, a short length of twine and a small wad of cash. It’s a task I must face alone, without aid or assistance from attractive young lingere clerks or motherly housewives who may feel the need to take pity on me.

It’s me against the mall…and married to a woman who refuses to write a simple Christmas list since that would obviously “ruin the surprise.”

People always claim that it’s “the thought that counts.” Well, after 16 years of marriage I can assure you that there have been at least 14 occasions when my wife would have been less “surprised” with her Christmas gift had I simply “thought a little harder” before racing to the checkout line.

This year I am determined to surprise my wife and keep the resolution I solemnly made last January, which as I recall had something to do with getting my wife a gift that “doesn’t suck.”

It really isn’t that I haven’t listened intently all year long and tried to keep track of all the subtle hints that she has made such as “kitchen utensils are not gifts” and “If I find a doggie Snuggie under the tree someone is going to die.” I really do try.

But only time will tell. Heck, if Bear can figure out how to make a four-course meal out of two cockroaches, a slug and what might possibly be a peanut, then I can surely capture a Salad Shooter at Sears.

For those of you who are already plotting out your plan of attack for Black Friday 2009, you can be certain that you’re not alone. Heck, no. It’s only 9 p.m. on Thanksgiving and there are already hordes of desperate and potentially violent shoppers lined up outside our nation’s malls, Targets and Best Buys, itching to usher in the unofficial start of the holiday shopping season.

I, for one, can’t wait. I have spent the day preparing my battle plan and with a little luck, tomorrow’s excursion may turn out to be more adrenaline riddled than a run with the bulls—and, if my math is correct, much more dangerous.

Black Friday All nighter

Ready and waiting for the stores to open on Black Friday.

Dangerous you ask? Oh yeah, last year alone, 5 shoppers lost their lives in tragic trampling incidents on Black Friday. Since way the-heck-back in 1910, only 15 people have died running with the bulls in Pamplona—an average of only .15 persons per year.

Do the math for yourself (feel free to take off your shoes if you need to…) and you will quickly see that you’ll find yourself closer to the Grim Reaper while trying to buy a discounted Bratz Lunchbox at Wal-Mart on Black Friday than you would be running a half-mile stretch of road in Pamplona with a horde of drunken Spaniards and six slightly-disoriented bulls.

Throwing caution to the wind, my wife is currently planning for us to be at the mall in Appleton before the mecca of Black Friday discounters (a.k.a. Best Buy) opens at 4 a.m.

I am already getting prepared—and excited.

Believe it or not, YouTube has an incredibly large number of videos providing great examples of precisely how ugly shoppers can get on Black Friday. After gorging myself on ham and green bean casserole, I spent the remainder of the day watching hours of grainy video footage so that I will be prepared to protect my lovely wife and outwit my fellow shoppers.

I have solemnly vowed not to leave a single family member or discounted Barbie accessory behind.

And, if what I am reading is correct, this will not be an easy vow to keep.

If you believe all the predictive-guesses and hype being made by the folks over at the National Retail Federation, then tomorrow morning we will be joining 134 million of our fellow sleep-deprived Christmas shoppers in the retail trenches—Up roughly 5 percent over last year.

Not one to underestimate the gravity of the situation, things look even more grim when you consider that nearly 10 percent of the nation is currently out of work and short on cash…and possibly feeling slightly resentful about it. When you factor in that every shopper out there is itching to get their hands on the too-good-to-be-true door buster deals—then you have all the ingredients for…well, a good ol’ fashioned cage match.

I for one can’t wait and will be pulling out all the stops to ensure that I am one of the few…the proud…the shoppers to get his greedy little hands on a discounted Salad Shooter at Kohls.

It was the great General Douglas MacAurthur who uttered the immortal words:

“In War there is no substitute for victory.”

So, if you happen to stumble across any incredible deals out there, please email me…I’ll be in my car sleeping outside the Best Buy, contemplating this simple recipe for Black Friday victory and preparing myself for what tomorrow holds.

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