February 9, 2025

Exploring Minnesota's Superior North Shore

 


Exploring Minnesota's Superior North Shore 

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for February 9, 2025


Monday night, we put on our finest hairnets and went full assembly-line mode at Feed My Starving Children, scooping rice and sealing bags like we were prepping for the apocalypse. The goal? Pack meals for kids who actually need them. It’s a simple process: show up, measure stuff, try not to spill, and pretend you’re a professional humanitarian for 2 hours. By the end, we had boxed up enough food to make a real difference, and more importantly, we learned that nothing humbles you faster than getting absolutely outclassed at scooping soy by a high school girl who wasn’t even trying.


For two hours, we scooped food into bags like we were factory workers with zero breaks.  Just when we thought we were done, some volunteer would swoop in and refill the bins like a sadistic game of Whac-A-Mole. By the end, my arm felt like I had spent the night arm-wrestling a grizzly bear, but the soreness came with a side of pride.  Turns out, the group we were with packed over 115,000 meals during our session. So yeah, I basically have the body of an old man and the work ethic of a humanitarian—just don’t ask me to lift anything today.


Wednesday night, I flew down to Kansas City to host a dinner for one of my customers, because nothing says “let’s talk AI and cloud infrastructure” like a perfectly cooked steak. We were in town for the Oracle Data and AI event the next day, but first, we tackled the real challenge—figuring out how many seafood towers it takes to impress a room full of tech pros. The conversation was incredible, covering everything from AI strategy to data platforms, and by the end of the night, we walked away with fresh ideas, solid connections, and the undeniable fact that 801 Chophouse knows how to fuel a high-performance discussion.


My hotel was across the street from Union Station, so I wandered over Thursday night for dinner and found the place decked out in full Chiefs glory, hyping up their impending dynasty with a massive "3-PEAT LOADING..." sign. Fast forward a few days, and after watching them get dismantled 40-22 in the Super Bowl, I have to wonder—did they slowly dim the lights on this thing out of respect, or did some poor worker have to rip it down at 3 a.m. while pretending not to cry?


Friday, we drove a few hours north to Two Harbors, Minnesota, because nothing says “great idea” like venturing into the frozen wilderness in February. It was cold, it was snowy, but it was beautiful—at least that’s what we kept telling ourselves as we lost feeling in our faces. We were excited for a weekend of good times with friends and some good old-fashioned critter hunting in the icy woods, because apparently, frostbite and tracking animals that are way better at surviving winter than us sounded like a solid plan.


Driving along Minnesota's North Shore, I always marvel at how they carved roads out of solid rock. Take the Silver Creek Cliff Tunnel, for instance—completed in 1994 after three years of blasting through 1,344 feet of cliff to replace a road that basically dared Lake Superior to swallow you whole. 


We stopped at Castle Danger Brewery, parked the car, and were on our way to the bar when we spotted a group of photographers standing in the snow with lenses so massive they could probably see into next week. Curiosity got the best of us, so we wandered over to see what had them locked in with the intensity of snipers. Whatever it was, it had to be something special—because if you’re willing to stand in the freezing cold for hours, either you’re witnessing something incredible or you’ve just made a series of very questionable life choices.


Turns out, it was a great gray owl—a bird so rare in these parts that even Bigfoot would ask for its autograph. Apparently, there's an irruption happening, which is a fancy way of saying these owls' dinner plans up north fell through, so they're crashing our backyard buffets. We snapped a few pictures to prove we were there and then headed into the bar, because as majestic as nature is, it doesn't serve beer.


When we came back outside 45 minutes later, the photographers had all turned their cameras in a new direction, so we wandered over to see what was up. Turns out, the owl had left the tree and landed right on one of their cameras. Pretty cool—unless you’re the guy who owns that camera. Now he’s just standing there, watching his expensive gear become an owl’s personal perch, probably debating whether retrieving it is worth being shunned by the entire birdwatching community. For all we know, he’s still there, nodding along as the others whisper, "Just let it happen, Steve."


We stayed at a nice resort with the Browns and Zitzewitzes, playing games, enjoying great meals, and laughing way too much. On Saturday, we headed to Gooseberry Falls State Park for a hike, which sounded fun until I remembered that everyone in this group is way more fit than me. While they were bounding through the snow like a North Face commercial, I was just hoping to make it back without needing a rescue sled.


As we approached the falls, I could see some water trickling under the ice, but mostly, it looked like a frozen wasteland with people scaling it like they were training for Everest. We watched the ice climbers for a bit before moving on, and at some point, I finally asked, “So when do we get to the falls?” The group casually informed me that this was the falls. In the summer, it’s a powerful, rushing cascade—right now, it’s more of a scenic reminder that nature takes the winters off too.


We went back to the townhouse for lunch, and when the group decided to head out for another hike, I made the executive decision to sit this one out rather than pretend I could keep up with their Olympic-level endurance. Fortunately, Miss Sheri took pity on me, and instead of racing through the snow, we hopped in the car for a leisurely photo tour—because why struggle up a hill when you can drive around and let the critters come to you?


Our critter hunt came up empty, but we did stumble upon a scenic overlook we’d never been to before, offering a perfect view of Split Rock Lighthouse—one of the most photographed lighthouses in Minnesota. Which makes sense, because when you stick a lighthouse on a cliff with a backdrop like that, it’s less of a landmark and more of a full-time Instagram model.

February 2, 2025

Dancing Through History in Clear Lake, Iowa

 


Dancing Through History in Clear Lake, Iowa
Todd Swank's Diary Entry for February 2, 2025


This week I spent two nights in Houston at Oracle's Data & AI Forum, a great event where I had the chance to meet with several customers and prospects. It’s clear that every company is eager to figure out how they can leverage generative AI to drive their business forward, and I’m fortunate to work for an awesome company like Oracle that delivers the powerful solutions they need to make that happen.

Friday night, we hit the road with our good friends Sue and Ron Korkowski, heading to Clear Lake, Iowa, for the Winter Dance Party. But first, we carbo-loaded at The Other Place (The OP) with pizza and sandwiches—because nothing says "ready to dance" like a belly full of melted cheese and regret.


While grabbing dinner, I ran into one of my oldest friends, Randy Chesterman. Back when I was in elementary school in Mason City, Randy worked at The Record Vault—an awesome record store back when those were still a thing. I’d walk to Regency Mall and pester him while he was trying to do his job, flipping through vinyl like I actually knew what I was looking at. Little did I know, the guy behind the counter would go on to become The Voice of North Iowa and land himself in the Iowa Rock and Roll Hall of Fame… and I was just the annoying kid in the background of his origin story.

My home town of Clear Lake, Iowa is home to the Surf Ballroom, the site of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper’s final show before the day the music died. But in true Midwest fashion, we turned tragedy into a party. The Winter Dance Party started in 1979 and has been rocking ever since, proving that in Clear Lake, the music doesn’t die—it just gets louder.


It was Sue’s idea to hit this year’s Winter Dance Party, and somehow Miss Sheri and I had never been. Since we were back in town, we went all in—right down to visiting the crash site in the middle of a frozen cornfield. Back in high school, it was just an empty field with a grim story. Now, they’ve got Buddy Holly’s giant glasses marking the spot, making it easier to find tragedy with a side of photo op.


It was freezing cold with the kind of wind that feels like it’s trying to slap some sense into you. I’d been to the crash site a few times, but I forgot how far you have to trek into the cornfield to reach it. By the time we got there, I couldn’t feel my face, but at least the memorial looked more elaborate than I remembered. Lots of tributes. Probably because people were trying to distract themselves from the frostbite.


Replicas of their most popular records were front and center, surrounded by a random assortment of oddities—some weird coins, a bunch of guitar picks, fake flowers trying their best to look alive, and an unexpected collection of sunglasses. Because when you're paying tribute to rock 'n' roll icons, nothing says respect quite like turning their crash site into a lost-and-found for accessories.


We hit up the Rockin' N Boppin' Record Show during the Winter Dance Party, where you can find everything from vinyl and vintage posters to cassette decks that probably still have mix tapes from 1987 stuck inside. Sue went to school with Bobby Vee's kids, so every time we spotted one of his albums, we made sure to shove it in her face. Judging by her smile, it worked like a charm—either that or she’s just really good at humoring us.


Krazy Kory rolled in to meet us for dinner at Prime N Wine, one of our Mason City favorites. We only had a couple of hours with him, but when you’re dining with a guy called Krazy Kory, that’s basically a full weekend’s worth of entertainment packed into one meal.

The Winter Dance Party runs for three nights, but we only needed Saturday to get our fix. The opening act? A wild group of ladies called The Midnight Cowgirls. Imagine if country, new wave, post-punk, and rockabilly had a chaotic love child, and then dressed it up in cowboy hats and glitter. They’re like the soundtrack to a rodeo that accidentally wandered into a punk rock dive bar—and somehow, it works.


Ran into Nelson Crabb, the long-time mayor of Clear Lake. Every time he sees me, he brings up that high school party where I tried to make a swift exit and ended up face-first in his rose bushes. He’s been mayor for over 20 years now, which is impressive, especially considering he’s still willing to talk to the kid who used his landscaping as a crash pad. The city’s in good hands… even if my dignity isn’t.


I always seem to run into Chris Barragy when I’m back in Clear Lake. He’s a fantastic photographer, covering all the big events—aka, the exact places I tend to show up and distract him. I’ve known his family since high school, so it’s always great to see him, even if I’m basically the human equivalent of a photo bomb while he’s trying to do his job.


Next up were Albert Lee and Jeremy Clyde—absolute legends with resumes longer than a CVS receipt. Albert’s been shredding guitars with everyone from Clapton to Emmylou Harris, and Jeremy’s got hits and acting chops to spare. But despite all that star power, their set had us feeling less like we were at a rock show and more like we were waiting for our turn at the DMV.

The Duprees hit the stage and suddenly it felt like we’d wandered into a live version of Jersey Boys. Smooth harmonies, sharp suits, and songs that made you feel like you should be slow dancing in a high school gym circa 1962. I actually enjoyed a lot of their set, but halfway through I started checking over my shoulder for a mob boss in the corner booth giving someone the nod.


Miss Sheri was floored when she turned around and saw Lynne Jensen, an old friend from her Camp Sunnyside days. One minute she’s jamming out at the Winter Dance Party, the next she’s back in her college years, reminiscing about summer camp adventures. Turns out Lynne’s moving to Clear Lake—because apparently, small-world moments come with a change of address.


Chubby Checker closed out the night, and I’ll be honest—I was expecting a nostalgic shuffle and maybe a polite wave goodbye. But no, the man’s 83 and performed like he had a time machine stashed backstage. He had the crowd twisting, shouting, and hanging on every move for 90 minutes straight without so much as a water break. I went in skeptical and came out wondering if I need to hit the gym just to keep up with Chubby.


We had way more fun at the Winter Dance Party than any of us expected. Sure, standing by the stage all night left our feet screaming for mercy, but honestly, it was worth it. By the end, we were all wondering—could this become an annual thing? I mean, if the day the music died taught us anything, it’s that you gotta enjoy the tunes while you still can.

January 26, 2025

Running with the Wolves

 

Running with the Wolves

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for January 26, 2025


Miss Sheri and I met Tim and Brad at Lion’s Tap, a spot known for serving some of the best burgers in Minnesota. It’s our monthly Clear Lake High School reunion, where we gather to discuss the state of the Vikings and other critical issues of the day. Between the burgers and the banter, I’d say we solved absolutely nothing, but we had a great time doing it.


Thursday night, we had the honor of stepping into Mayo Clinic Square, the heart of Timberwolves HQ, for a half-season members party. They set up dinner right on the Wolves' practice court—the same floor where Anthony Edwards perfects his dunks and Rudy Gobert swats shots into next week. Sharing a meal in the sacred space where the magic happens? That’s next-level cool.


After dinner, we had the treat of hearing the voice of the Timberwolves Alan Horton interview players Rob Dillingham and Josh Minott. They shared stories about their grind to the NBA, but the real highlight? Their brutal honesty about life off the court. Turns out, no amount of talent or money can save you from the misery of a 3 a.m. landing on a frozen Minnesota tarmac, trudging through the arctic winds just to get to your car. Even NBA players can’t out-dribble winter in this state.


The highlight of the night was getting a photo with Rob and Josh. We only had a minute, but they couldn’t have been more down-to-earth. I told them how impressed I was with their hustle and thanked them for doing this. They thanked us back, and then Rob called me "Bro." For one brief, shining moment, I felt like I made the roster. I mean, probably not starting lineup material, but maybe solid towel guy.

Friday night found us back at the Walters' ice house, and this time, I actually picked up a fishing rod. No bites in two hours, but hey, we weren’t there for the fish—we were there for the camaraderie. Apparently, the fish were there for neither. Still, good times. It’s not about what you catch; it’s about how enthusiastically you pretend to care.


Luke and I tapped out at midnight, leaving these brave souls to fish through the night. The ice house has beds and a bathroom, which is great—but there’s nothing like waking up in your own warm bed the next morning. Plus, I have this irrational fear of some lake creature popping up through the ice holes and deciding I’m its midnight snack. Call me cautious, but at least I’m alive to tell the tale.


Saturday afternoon, Luke and I hit the Timberwolves game at Target Center. An afternoon game was a refreshing change—finally a chance to cheer without worrying if bedtime would beat the final buzzer. Late games are great… if you’re a vampire.


Our opponents for the day were the Denver Nuggets, coming in with a strong 28-16 record and plenty to prove after the Timberwolves knocked them out of the playoffs last year in a gritty seven-game series. The Wolves, at 23-21, were clawing their way up the standings and riding the high of a two-game win streak. Denver had been red-hot, winning eight of their last nine games, but you could tell there was still some unfinished business lingering from last season.


Seeing Minnesota's quarterback of the future, J.J. McCarthy, and Andrew Van Ginkel in attendance was a highlight. When the cameras landed on them, they even led a little Skol chant for the crowd. It got me thinking—how do the Timberwolves not have a signature chant by now? Something primal, intimidating, and uniquely wolf-like. Because if Vikings fans can rally behind clapping over their heads, surely we can handle a stadium-wide howl without looking ridiculous. Probably.


The halftime performer was a chin balancer, spending the break delicately propping up tables, bikes, and even multiple ladders on his face. Don’t get me wrong—it was impressive, but it left me with one burning question: How do you even realize this is your calling? Did he just wake up one day and think, “You know what my chin needs? A dining room set.”


The Timberwolves took on the Nuggets in a showdown that delivered big plays and broken records. Anthony Edwards dropped 34 points and became the franchise’s all-time leader in 3-pointers, while Rudy Gobert dominated with 14 points and 14 rebounds. Final score: 133-104, Timberwolves. Jokic’s streak of five straight triple-doubles ended, but hey, at least he still got to enjoy our sub-zero hospitality.
@toddswank Timberwolves beat the Nuggets! #nba #minnesota #timberwolves #denver #nuggets ♬ original sound - Todd Swank

January 19, 2025

Skol No More: A Familiar Finish to a Promising Season

 


Skol No More: A Familiar Finish to a Promising Season 
Todd Swank's Diary Entry for January 19, 2025

The Minnesota Vikings invited us to a watch party at Mystic Lake Casino, proving once again that they really know how to take care of their season ticket holders. Classy venue, great perks, and a perfect setup to watch our 14-3 squad take on the Rams in the playoffs. And by “take on,” I mean lie down and let the Rams stomp all over us.

Sam Darnold was running for his life, our defense forgot how to tackle, and the Rams scored like it was a Madden game on rookie mode. Typical Vikings: deliver an amazing season, build our hopes to Super Bowl levels, and then faceplant when it matters most.

But hey, the free food was top-notch. Skol, I guess.


At least the day wasn’t a total loss—we got to meet Vikings Hall of Famer John Randle. This guy wasn’t just one of the greatest defensive tackles in NFL history; he was an unstoppable force. With 137.5 career sacks and a reputation for relentless energy and trash talk that got into the heads of even the best quarterbacks, Randle earned his place in the Hall of Fame and the hearts of Vikings fans everywhere.

Miss Sheri couldn’t contain herself when she saw him—literally jumping up and down like a kid meeting Santa Claus. Randle was one of her favorite players back in the day, and honestly, I’ve never seen her so starstruck. She was grinning ear to ear, and for a moment, the crushing playoff loss didn’t seem so bad.  But just for a moment.


A couple nights later, we had a courtside experience before the Timberwolves-Warriors game, watching the players warm up just feet away. It’s surreal being that close—hearing the swish of the net, the smack of the ball, and realizing that pro athletes operate in a completely different stratosphere. The energy was electric, and for those few moments, it felt like we were part of the team… except without the talent, paycheck, or six-foot-plus height requirement.


Anthony Edwards, aka "Ant-Man," is the future of the Timberwolves and arguably one of the brightest young stars in the NBA. His smile doesn’t just light up a room—it could power the entire Target Center during a blackout. Being that close to him, watching him warm up, felt like standing next to raw charisma with a killer jump shot. The guy’s got it all: talent, energy, and enough charm to make you forget about Minnesota winters… almost.


A few months ago, I ran into Rudy Gobert outside an elevator and got a picture with him. Naturally, I assumed that made us best friends. So at the game, I kept trying to catch his attention—waving, nodding, throwing in the occasional "Hey, Rudy!" like we were old pals. He never engaged. Probably just focused on his warmup... or so I’ll keep telling myself.


This is Jade, our Timberwolves rep and absolute rock star who hooked us up with courtside seats for warmups. She makes dreams come true and keeps us coming back for more heartbreak every season. Honestly, I’m starting to think she’s better at closing deals than our team is at closing games.


Naz Reid.


We saw Vikings running back Aaron Jones nearby in the crowd. Class act all the way. Hope to see him back next season—he’s the kind of guy every team needs.


The Timberwolves put on quite the rollercoaster show against the Warriors, clawing back from a 24-point hole only to come up just short, 116-115. Steph Curry, being Steph Curry, drained seven threes on his way to 31 points, including the dagger that kept the Wolves’ furious comeback at bay. Anthony Edwards and Donte DiVincenzo tried to carry the night, combining for 56 points and all the hope Minnesota fans could muster. But even hope can brick a free throw when it matters most.


On Friday night, we ventured onto the cold, dark ice of nearby Spring Lake to check out the Walters family’s latest purchase—a new ice house that’s less “fishing shack” and more “luxury RV with a hole in the floor.” It’s the kind of setup that almost makes you forget you’re sitting on a frozen lake… almost.

This thing is next-level fun—it’s got a kitchen, beds, and even a bathroom! And as if that wasn’t enough, you can fish right through the floor. It’s like camping, but with way fewer bugs and a much higher chance of catching dinner without stepping outside.

Jen wasted no time breaking in the new ice house, snagging the first fish of the night like a pro. Then she casually followed it up with three more, proving she has some kind of mystical connection with the underwater world. Meanwhile, the rest of us were just there to enjoy the show.

As Luke and I were driving off the ice at 11 PM, we spotted this lone swan just hanging out in the dark like it was waiting for an Uber. Nothing says “Minnesota nightlife” quite like a majestic bird silently judging your life choices from the frozen tundra.