Yes, I'm doing the Tom Sawyer thing, getting my buddy Tom Linnemann (the former St. John's quarterback, world traveler and Hunter S. Thompson clone) to whitewash my fence for me.

What follows is a guest blog Tommy wrote after a very strange trip, during which he texted me about all kinds of things I can't put in the newspaper - or even on a blog.

Enjoy, and remember, none of this is my fault:

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Tom Linnemann, apparently pretending to be William Faulkner...or is it William Shatner?:

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The course of my meandering journey took me to outposts this week that would not necessarily be noteworthy on their own but when played together make bizarre music that would even confuse Radiohead. In the span of five days, I was in Los Angeles--the City of Angels, home to Hollywood, Botox and Ice Cube--and then to what is relatively another planet, Grand Forks, North Dakota--home to sugar beets, Sioux hockey, and Vanessa who manages the Travelodge. If you enjoy polarity and completely unintentional irony coming like a slapshot upside yo' head, then book your tickets for the LA/ND exacta. I was so struck by the profoundly divergent identities that my brain almost exploded. Luckily it did not, so if you order the Compton/Peace Garden combo platter, be on the watch for some of the elements below.

There are obvious differences that don't bear mention, like weather, population and geography. Elements like the difference between intense non-stop traffic and the ability to actually see Montana are gimme's. And I'll admit that there are similarities. I didn't wear a coat in either place; California was too warm and coats are inconvenient in Grand Forks. I got ice at both hotels and put bottled beers in both sinks. But after that, the divide is wider than Corona and Premium.

Let's start with hotels. In Orange County, I stayed in a Marriott. Nice hotel. I think I have a rewards card with them since I stay there so often but I never remember. Near the front desk is an antique gold tank of water with lemons in it that looks like it cost about $2000. They have killer workout facilities and an indoor/outdoor pool that is reminiscent of the one at the Lifetime Fitness in Plymouth (nooothing is that nice, but for the purpose of a frame of reference, that's how it's going to be). There is wi-fi, a business center, all the trappings of a great hotel. The bellman drove us to the restaurant, printed boarding passes, whatever you needed--he got it. You're on autopilot at this joint.

Flash forward a couple days and step into an Inception-like experience in room 214 at the Travelodge in Grand Forks. I forgot that all TV's weren't flat screens. I have also become such a diva that I'm accustomed to having an iron in the room. When asked about the iron, the front desk attendant told my friend incredulously, "Why do you need an iron? Are you some kind of businessman or something?". Instead of a Xanadu pool, there is a small pool with a giant picture of an extremely sleepy-looking Travelodge Bear. The friendly bellman in LA does not have a counterpart in Grand Forks. We were threatened with a $200 fine for having bloody mary's near the hot tub. When we put them in the laundry room adjacent to the pool area, our resourcefulness was not appreciated by Vanessa. Remember the giant bear? Here's where it gets weird. There are 64 rooms in the hotel, and one of them--just one--is decked out in a Travelodge Bear theme. My friends hit the Travelodge lottery and stayed in a room with lampshades with the Bear. Pictures on the wall with the Bear. The comforter on the freaking bed had the Bear. It was incredibly silencing. Nothing needed to be said.

The food experience comes with an asterisk because I didn't really eat anything in Grand Forks but I fell into some gastro-magic on the trip up there. In LA, it was an amazing carneceria in Santa Ana that had some of the best tacos I've ever eaten, and that total is somewhere in the millions. For dinner it was sushi and Ono, and again, spectacular. On the way up to Grand Forks we stopped in Avon, MN at the Buckhorn Bar. I always like to put my feet up in one place in Stearns County when I pass through and my buddies had never been to this jewel. If you can imagine an animal--any animal--it is stuffed at the Buckhorn. I think they even have dinosaurs. It's amazing. There were 27 guy customers in there and zero women. My friend was wearing a scarf so we were immediately dismissed as foreigners. After having a couple pops, we somehow infiltrated the commotion around the pool table. One of the guys, Mick, knew my Dad so we were invited to vote in the bologna contest. There were 11 plates numbered on the pool table with bolognas from all over Stearns County, including meat markets and individual entries. We voted for the eventual winner, bologna #10. So now there is no more debate. That's the best bologna in Stearns County. I'm not sure if I had the best sushi in LA, but advantage Avon even if it were.

Entertainment was probably the most interesting in terms of contrast between LA and NoDak. In LA, I went to an Irish pub with a couple friends after a long day of work. I'm pretty sure the whiskey was about $10 a pop and it didn't taste any different than the Local. So admittedly it doesn't sound like the most fun you can have in what is probably the entertainment capital of the world...that is, until we saw MJ. Not Michael Jordan, because I don't think he'd like that place. Not Michael Jackson, because he's dead. The MJ I'm referring to is a guy who came to this Irish pub DRESSED AS MICHAEL JACKSON in order to be in the mix at the karaoke machine. He was wearing a sequined black top (I don't think it was masculine enough to be a shirt and blouse can be taken with offense) and he had a wig on underneath one of those odd hats that Michael Jackson wore. The wig even looked wet, like he may have gheri-curled it to take it to the next level. He also had one white glove that was intensely bedazzled with silver sequins. He was drinking tea and had a bottle of honey to calm his vocal chords after each performance. But that's just it. It wasn't a performance! We thought this guy was the entertainment but instead he was just a dude who planned all week to dress up like freaking Michael Jackson, get some tea and honey and head to the Irish pub for Tuesday night karaoke.

Fake MJ wouldn't bring the house down in Grand Forks. Not in a place that serves $1.50 brats for no apparent reason. Actually, maybe the reason was to differentiate between them and the place that serves 2x1's all-day, every day. Hard to get a read on marketing when my hotel has a Travelodge Bear room. Anyway, people would be too busy getting NFL-game wasted while sitting at a blackjack table in a bar trying to balance math, a brat, and a longneck to see who was looking at the man in the mirror. After this type of pregame activity, it was time to take a bar-sponsored bus to the Ralph to watch the Fighting Sioux hockey team kick the hell out of Bemidji (Ber-mid-gee) State. It's a glorious stadium with a great hockey team and fantastically rabid fans. Of course, there are the fans who take it to the next level like MJ with the Soul Glow but in a totally different way. Do you remember when the Fighting Sioux mascot was deemed, "hostile" and "offensive"? I had forgotten about that until I saw two guys with "HOSTILE" and "OFFENSIVE" as the stitched names on the backs of the Sioux jerseys. Too soon, too soon. It was a jaw-dropper. I wish I would have had some honey and tea to muster the words to ask them about it, but I can't imagine it would have been a productive conversation.

A trip to LA can be vibrant, exciting and fantastically weird. A trip to Grand Forks can be epic, unforgettable and extremely baffling. They seem as different as Black and White, like a duet sung by a Fake MJ and the Travelodge Bear. But if you combine the two together you will achieve comedy that eliminates wrinkles and doubles-down on a 13."

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Thank you, Tommy. We will now hold a contest. First person who can tell me what it all means wins a free blog subscription.