The Larson Family

If you do any driving at night in the Fargo area, you’ve probably seen me at some point in the last three weeks. Or more accurately, you’ve seen the blast of the high-beams from my wife’s Kia Sorento blasting your pupils down to pinpricks. And believe me, I’ve seen you. Squinting, your face illuminated bright white, as you flash your headlights at me. Sorry about your ocular degeneration.

In my previous blog, you might remember I told you about how Kia Sorentos have a problem with their lights burning out. Headlights, taillights, brakelights, the works. I changed our last headlight on November 29th — the driver’s side.

About three weeks ago, the passenger-side headlight burnt out. Well, it’s been so damn cold, I just couldn’t bring myself to go out and change it. So, we minimized our night-time driving for the last three weeks. But when we did go driving at night, I kept the high beams on, just so we’d have at least one working light on both sides of the vehicle.

Woudn’t you know, it got up to a relatively balmy twenty-something today, so I finally went out and changed the bulb this morning.

So, for the record, right now we’re on pace to have a burned out light bulb every quarter. I shouldn’t complain because the Kia has mechanically been a stellar car for us. No major problems to speak of (I’m knocking) except this annoying problem with the headlights.

By the way… did I mention we’ve had a brakelight burned out for about two months? Maybe it can wait until spring.

It’s that time of the year in the Northern states. The deadliest time of the year… first snow. Every year, I’m reminded of the Keystone Kops, and the clown that used to perform during halftime at the ice show. A lot of slippin’ and slidin’ is goin’ down on the streets of Fargo right now.

I saw it on the way to work this morning… fishtailing as you round a corner… nearly sliding off the interstate off-ramp… And the stuff I saw other drivers doing was crazy too.

This time of year. It sneaks up on you. All summer you get accustomed to waiting until the last possible minute to leave for a destination, hopping into the car, and zooming over there as close to the deadline as possible. And it’s easy. And you can drive fast.

Problem is, when winter gets here, it’s hard to break those habits. You gotta warm up the car and/or scrape the windows, make some hot coffee and fill up your travel mug, bundle up for the weather, and finally head out the door to work. Then, on your way to work, you’re going way too fast because you’re behind schedule.

But, everybody does slow down… eventually.

This is my theory. Nobody slows down until they have their first “I Think I Just Shit My Pants” moment. If you live in the North, you know the moment… you’re half way to work, you’ve been in the car ten minutes, and that initial sense of driving awareness you had when you got in the car has been whittled away by radio, cell phone, and a morning smoke.

You turn off the main drag onto a less-traveled street, the intersections controlled with stop signs. You don’t pay attention to your speed. You’re approaching a stop sign, cross-traffic ahead, and you notice your first enemy. A glazed, icy appearance to the hard packed snow in the intersection. You step on the brake… too late. Your momentum is already more than the tires can handle on North Dakota road-lube. Your wheels lock up — You’re sliding. Cars crossing in front of you are seemingly unaware that you’re careening toward their doom. You’re pumping the brakes — or if you have ABS, stomping and steering. The intersection is twenty feet away. Ten feet.

And suddenly, like a miracle from God, the tires catch on something… some gravel, sand from a sand truck, your pride, and you come to rest with your front bumper just into the edge of the instersection. You can see the look on the face of the driver you just narrowly avoided killing. And you realize — “I think I just shit my pants.” The other driver thinks the same thing.

That’s the upside of the “I Think I Just Shit My Pants” moment. It’s for sharing. You can have yours, and at the same time, share it with someone else.

So you both go home, change your pants.

From that moment on, you slow down. You might have a couple of lapses throughout the winter, but even then, you’ll have a few minor panics, nothing major, but it will remind you of “that time earlier this year, when I shit myself.” And then you’ll slow down again.

But this time of year is dangerous, because only a few people have shit their pants so far. So when everybody else shits their pants, then we’ll be safe for the rest of the season.

That’s what I think anyway.

A little background on me. For the first five years of my life, I did not have a prominent father figure in my life. As a matter of fact, I was surrounded by women. My mom, my grandma, and my aunt. And even after my Mom got married, I was still surrounded by women since I soon became big brother to two little sisters. And being the voracious reader that I was, I read everything, including my Mom’s women’s magazines. Don’t get me wrong, my Dad’s stash of Playboys made it into my brain too… but that’s not really reading now, is it?

When I became an adult, I looked back on that and came to the conclusion that there are some advantages to being raised by women. I’ve always felt like I have a better understanding of women than some of my male friends. And I’ve come to discover that I have some skills which are rare in adult males because of it… like shopping.

I shop for my wife all the time. And I’m not talking trinkets and knick knacks, I mean clothes. Somehow, I have a knack for knowing her size — even though she occasionally gets on me for buying them a little too small (I like ‘em tight, what can I say) — and being able to pick out stuff that looks good on her. I’m not saying I never fail, but I do pretty good most of the time. I distinctly remember one time when one of Becky’s friends looked at her and said, “He buys you clothes?” with this look of jealousy. I like it. I’m proud of it.

But recently, I’ve run head-on into a new problem. Becky is eight years younger than me… a young-looking thirty two and she can rock the trendiest clothes and pull it off. But I’m forty, and I look it. Goatee is getting a little gray.

So, not too long ago, I went to a trendy little clothing shop in the mall. I picked out a few things for Becky and went to check out. As the cashier is ringing me up, we’re making small talk, and I gestured to one of the articles I picked out and mentioned how my wife has been wanting one of these. The cashier goes on ringing up my purchases and then she dropped the bomb.

She said, “God, I don’t think my dad has ever bought me clothes.” I stood there for a moment, thinking “What did she just say?” And then she said, “As a matter of fact, I know my dad wouldn’t be caught dead buying me clothes.”

Yep, I heard her right. She thought I was buying clothes for my daughter! Was she even listening when I told her these were for my wife?? I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I was offended, but mildly amused too. I’m such a sensitive and considerate Dad.

So, she finished ringing up and bagging my purchases, and said, “Here you go. I hope she enjoys them.” And as I walked out the door I said, “Oh, I’m sure she will. She’s gonna look hot in these.”

That’ll teach her.

You never know when you’re going to have an encounter with something (or someone) strange.

In 2004, Becky and I were leaving McDonalds in North Fargo. We were waiting for the traffic on University Drive to clear when we saw a guy go by us in a brown minivan. As he went by, he looked at Becky and pantomimed sticking his finger up his nose. She looked at me and said “Did you see that?”

After the traffic cleared, we pulled out onto University, and purely by chance, we caught up with him at a stoplight a couple blocks away. The light was red, and he was right in front of us. The light turned green, and he left the light extremely slow… half a block later he was still only going about fifteen miles per hour. So I casually pulled into the other lane to pass him, and just as I was moving into the other lane, he changed too, trying to stay in front of me.

So I pulled back into my original lane and stepped on it. Just as I was about half a car length behind him, I’ll be damned if he didn’t start coming back into our lane again. He was trying to run me off the road! I stepped on it, nearly clipped the curb trying to avoid getting sideswiped. I managed to clear his bumper by the time he came all the way back into my lane.

I pulled out my cell phone to dial 911. I help it out the window so he could see it — so he knew I was calling the cops. He immediately turned. I went around the block to get behind him and followed him for a couple blocks as I spoke to the operator and gave her the guy’s license plate number. She then had me pull over in a parking lot so I could meet up with an officer.

A few minutes later, an officer shows up, and he has this skeptical look on his face — like I’m some kind of road rager who somehow instigated this. He asked me what happened and I explained. He asked me what the guy looked like. I said, “He was kind of an overweight guy, brown hair, bald on the top but frizzy on the sides… like Bozo the Clown.” And then the cop said, “Oh! I think I know the guy you’re talking about. Kind of an eraserhead-type guy?” And I said, “Yes, that’s the guy.”

The officer said the guy lived a couple blocks away and asked us to wait a few minutes until he returned. So we waited. A few minutes later, the cop comes back and he says, “Yeah that’s the guy.”

He then went on to explain that this guy, Seely was his name, was well-known to the Fargo Police. He’s evidently mentally ill, schizophrenia or something. The cop explained that he has a problem with the color red, so he may have had a problem with our vehicle, a red Jeep Grand Cherokee, or maybe even Becky, since she’s a redhead. He said the guy lives across from a catholic school where all the kids wear red shirts, and he had a problem with that too. He seemed to think anybody associated with the color red was somehow evil or out to get him.

To make a long story short, the officer went to his house and issued him a ticket for reckless driving. He said if the guy pleads not guilty, you may have to testify. Well they never called us to testify, so he must have plead guilty. And that story was nearly forgotten until the other night — I went in the convenience store, and there he was, harrassing a cashier. After he left she told me, “When he’s not on his meds…” I assured her I knew all about Mr. Seely.

I guess the upside is, this encounter gave me a great idea for a screenplay. So if I ever make it as a screenwriter, I’ll owe a little inspiration to crazy Mr. Seely.

Tim Mahoney onstage at the House of Rock in Fargo. Call me shallow and mainstream, but my favorite Tim Mahoney song is still “Theme Song.” Photo taken a couple years ago on God knows what kind of camera.

My lovely wife Rebecca set up a birthday date for me last month and not only did she pull off a surprise party with a bunch of my former co-workers, but she suggested we try a new restaurant — Stella’s in downtown Fargo. Let me tell you, it was delicious.

The ambience is authentic mixed with historic. Original brick walls and arches, soft lighting, and they weren’t too busy either. The clientele seemed to be a mixture of young and old; a good cross-section.

I ordered the Ravioli, and it was fantastic. A very light marinara sauce on a cheese ravioli — not heavy at all like some of the other Italian joints people “speak” of. Rebecca ordered a Balsamic chicken which was so good, she’s now fixated on balsamic everything. Anytime we go somewhere that has a balsamic anything on the menu, she orders it. But I don’t think anyone has measured up to Stella’s yet.

Stella’s had a nice selection of wines and Italian beers to choose from, and the price of the meal was just north of forty bucks. We highly recommend you check it out.

Stella’s is on First Avenue, right across from the Fargo Avalon. Their dress code is “casual but don’t be a slob.” — Troy