Hot Days, Cold Drinks, Great People

 

Hot Days, Cold Drinks, Great People

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for July 13, 2025

We went to Clear Lake, Iowa for the 4th of July and met up with Krazy Kory, his daughter, and her friend to kick things off. They brought the energy, I brought the need for shade and lower back support. I used to party all night—now I just hope to stay awake past sunset. Still a great way to celebrate freedom… until the next morning reminds you how old you are.

We had a special treat this year when my stepsister Lori and her husband David came to town for her 40th high school reunion and casually turned our 4th of July into a VIP experience. I always thought I had some local clout, but apparently all it takes is showing up with Lori to have doors open, crowds part, and prime spots magically appear. I’m not saying she runs Clear Lake now—but I’m definitely not saying she doesn’t.

The 4th of July parade is always fun, but this year Lori’s friend was able to reserve a front row table inside Rookies and had a couple extra seats for us. Watching the madness from an air-conditioned bar with cold beers and table service? Let’s just say it’s hard to go back to sidewalk seating after that level of freedom.

The VIP experience continued when Lori’s friends Kelly and Al Dickes invited us over before taking us out on the lake. We started with a tour of Al’s man cave, which felt less like a garage and more like a fully functional museum of Midwestern greatness. Tools, toys, neon signs—this place had everything but a gift shop.

Kelly and Al were awesome hosts, giving us a cruise around Clear Lake that brought back a bunch of childhood memories. I grew up on this lake with my dad and his boat—he was obsessed with keeping it spotless, drying it down and waxing it after every ride. Being back out there on the 4th felt great… mostly because no one made me towel-dry a windshield afterward.

We always have fun hitting the carnival downtown, and this year’s Bingo tent did not disappoint. We ran into Mike Glaser and his family mid-game, which was great—especially since Miss Sheri walked away $38 richer. It’s not about the money, of course… unless you win. Then it absolutely is.

I always seem to run into Todd Rule when I’m in Clear Lake, which is great since he lives in Houston and we rarely get to catch up. This year he brought his wife Lenaine, and we squeezed in a quick visit at the VFW—just enough time to swap what’s new before disappearing again for another year. It’s the kind of reliable randomness I’ve come to expect from Clear Lake.

We also bumped into Casey and Michele Craven, which always feels like reconnecting with the home team. Michele was in the same grade as Krazy Kory and me, so there’s this automatic bond—like no matter how much time passes, we just pick up right where we left off. The Class of 1988 may be scattered now, but for a few days each summer, it feels like we never left.

Back in Minnesota, the reunions kept rolling. Jason and Jen are in town for the summer, so we met up with them and invited Brad to join us at Duke’s on 7 in Minnetonka. Good food, great company, and just enough sarcasm at the table to make it feel like we never took a break.

On Wednesday, we met up with Miss Sheri’s cousin Deb, her husband Al, their daughter Jenny, and her crew for a little family catch-up. They were in full vacation mode, and we were a brief pause between all the action. The kids were happy to see us—at least until they remembered there were way more exciting things to do than hang out with adults talking over pancakes.

On Friday night we hit up Prior Lake’s Lakefront Music Fest for Rock Night. Always a good time—even when it’s 85 degrees, the crowd feels like a human wall, and your chair sinks two inches into the grass. The rain held off, the music was loud, and nobody around us sang in key… which honestly made it even better.

We ran into a bunch of great friends at Lakefront Music Fest and ended up sitting with Sue and Ron Korkowski—two people who never need convincing when it comes to having a good time. If there’s music, sunshine, and a reason to laugh, they’re already there.

Loverboy opened Rock Night with a tight, no-nonsense set that hit all the right notes. They launched into “Notorious” and didn’t let up. When they hit “Working for the Weekend,” they got everyone on their feet—even the people who looked pretty settled in for the night.

By the time 38 Special took the stage, the sun was down, the beer gardens were busy, and the crowd was fully warmed up. They kicked things off with “Rockin’ Into the Night” and didn’t slow down from there. Tight guitars, clean vocals, and nothing fancy—just a well-oiled Southern rock machine doing exactly what we came to see. When they closed with “Hold On Loosely,” every voice in that field was shouting it back.

Foreigner closed out Rock Night with a full-blown light show and a setlist straight off a Greatest Hits CD. They opened with “Double Vision” and rolled through anthem after anthem like they had something to prove. By the time they hit “I Want to Know What Love Is” with a local choir and a sea of phone lights, it felt less like a concert and more like a moment everyone was going to remember.

@toddswank

A Megapod of Dolphins - We thought we were out for a peaceful cruise in San Diego. Then the ocean exploded. Over 1,000 dolphins—stampeding in sync—racing alongside us like we accidentally joined nature’s VIP rave. This went on for 15 minutes. No joke. I finally finished editing the full footage—and I still can’t believe it was real. Watch to the end. You’ll start questioning which species is really in charge out there. #Dolphins #MegaPod #SanDiego #WildlifeEncounters #OceanEnergy #swankventures

♬ original sound - Todd Swank

AI Gives Me Delusions of Swankdom

 

AI Gives Me Delusions of Swankdom

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for March 30, 2025

I’ve spent a lot of time this week experimenting with the new image tools inside ChatGPT, and it’s officially gotten out of hand. What started as a curiosity turned into a full-blown obsession that ended with me recreating my entire family as claymation characters on a boat like we’re starring in a stop-motion sequel to Ozark. And look at us! I mean, sure, the faces are a little off, and Blue looks like he’s been sniffing glue, but the energy is there. It’s honestly kind of beautiful—this high-tech hallucination of what my life would look like if it were rendered by a Pixar intern on their first day.

This photo was from my niece’s wedding last December, where I got all dressed up to celebrate love, family, and the awkward miracle of fitting into dress pants after a holiday meal. And now—thanks to AI—I’ve been transformed into a character straight out of a Studio Ghibli film, which has been absolutely seeping into every corner of the internet this week after the latest release. My mom and sisters look like they just stepped out of a whimsical forest tea party, and I somehow became the lovable, soft-edged uncle who offers sage advice between pratfalls. It’s honestly the most flattering thing that’s ever happened to my face.

I used to have to draw my weird ideas. Like, with a pencil. On paper. And then pretend it was "abstract" instead of just "tragically bad." But now, thanks to AI, I can take a ridiculous thought—like water skiing behind a shark—and turn it into a disturbingly realistic image in minutes. No more awkward explanations or apologizing for the stick figure holding a rope attached to a triangle with teeth. Now I just type a prompt and boom—National Geographic meets midlife crisis. Technology is finally catching up to the inside of my brain, and honestly? That should terrify all of us.

Who among us hasn’t daydreamed about reeling in a deep sea monster from a perfectly innocent Minnesota pond? You toss a line, hoping for a sleepy little sunnie, and instead hook something that looks like evolution took a wrong turn and just kept going. I showed this picture to my dog Blue down by the lake, and he gave me a look like I’d just ruined water. And just like that, Blue’s never swimming again.

When I wasn’t busy creating AI-generated fever dreams, I did manage to squeeze in some actual work. I spent a couple nights in Kansas City hanging out with the fine folks from one of my favorite customers. We had a productive day of meetings, deep discussions about infrastructure, AI, and all the ways we’re going to save the world—or at least automate the parts we don’t like. We wrapped it up with a fine meal at McCormick & Schmick’s, where the steaks were juicy, the drinks were flowing, and the conversation somehow stayed mostly professional. If that’s not business travel done right, I don’t know what is.

Ron “Sugarman” Myers and his family rolled into town for spring break, which gave us the perfect excuse to catch up and inhale several pounds of grilled meat and rice at my all-time favorite restaurant, Benihana. There’s just something about teppanyaki-style cooking that brings people together—probably the shared trauma of a man in a tall hat launching shrimp at your face while setting the table on fire. I don’t know what kind of résumé you need to become a knife-juggling chef-therapist-magician, but I fully support it. Nothing says family bonding like trying to maintain eye contact while your eyebrows are singeing off.

On Thursday night, we met up with the Walters crew at the Crooked Pint in Savage for some good old-fashioned bingo—because nothing says “family bonding” like yelling out numbers over a cheeseburger. Our table went on an absolute heater, winning 4 of the 8 games and cashing in on some of the night’s biggest jackpots. We were laughing, cheering, living our best bingo lives—until we noticed the crowd around us wasn’t quite sharing in our joy. It’s all fun and games until you realize you’ve become the bingo villains of Savage, Minnesota.

Saturday night brought us to Charlie’s on Prior for dinner with the Browns and the Zitzewitzes—two families we hadn’t seen in a while, which means they were overdue for mocking me. They love to point out that I’m the guy who treats the menu like it’s a final exam. I take forever—ask the server three follow-up questions, read the description out loud twice, squint like I’m analyzing stock data—and then, just when everyone’s expecting some adventurous culinary twist… I order chicken tenders. It’s like watching a guy wind up for a 500-foot homer and then bunt.

After dinner, we headed over to Mystic Lake Casino to catch Hairball in concert. They’re celebrating 25 years of delivering face-melting rock tributes with enough pyro to qualify as a fire department training drill. As soon as the band kicked into KISS, the crowd went wild—well, as wild as you can get when everyone needs to be home by 10 because their CPAP machine doesn’t run itself. I looked around and thought, When did all the people I went to high school with get so old? Then I realized they were probably thinking the same thing about me... right before we all belted out “Livin’ on a Prayer” like it was 1987 and none of us had a mortgage.

The show wrapped up after a firestorm of Queen, Prince, AC/DC,  Guns N' Roses, and several others.  By that point, the crowd was all in. Hairball doesn’t just cover bands—they impersonate, embody, and out-energize them with a level of commitment that says, “Yes, we did spend $4,000 on this leather vest and yes, it was worth every penny.” We sang ourselves hoarse, pumped our fists like arthritic warriors, and left the casino knowing we’d relived a little piece of our youth… and probably strained something while doing it.

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.

2024: That’s All, Folks!

 

2024: That’s All, Folks!

Todd Swank's Diary Entry for January 5, 2025

The last weeks of December are always a blur—especially when Oracle decides to shut down between the holidays. Plenty of time to tackle all the stuff we’ve been putting off and, of course, to enjoy some Vikings football.

Miss Sheri and I spent Monday night at US Bank Stadium for the Winter Whiteout game, where Sam Darnold lit up the Bears in a 30-12 victory. Watching Darnold perform like this has been the surprise of the year, the kind of plot twist that makes you do a double take and say, “Wait, Sam Darnold? Really?” Turns out, sometimes the best gifts are the ones you didn’t even know you wanted.

Nothing says “Merry Christmas” like a pre-holiday colonoscopy. The prep? Absolute misery. The results? Thankfully good—so I guess it was worth spending 24 hours in what felt like a personal episode of Survivor: Bathroom Edition.

As for the procedure, let me tell you: fentanyl and versed together? That’s a ride I don’t remember buying a ticket for. One minute I was chatting with the doctor, the next I was waking up like, “Wait, we’re done?”  Honestly, I’ve had enough new diagnoses this year, so walking out of there with nothing but relief? Feels like the best gift of the season.

Luke and I went to see the Timberwolves take on the Knicks, and let’s just say it was less of a basketball game and more of a Karl-Anthony Towns highlight reel. Towns, traded to New York before the season for reasons no one can explain without laughing, dropped 32 points and 20 rebounds while the Knicks steamrolled the Wolves 133-107.

The crowd gave him a tribute video and a standing ovation before the game, but by the third quarter, he was draining 3-pointers and striking poses like he never left. Meanwhile, the Wolves were outscored 37-8 in the second quarter—a stat so bad it deserves its own tribute video.

Moral of the night? Trading Towns might go down as one of the biggest mistakes in franchise history. The Wolves thought they were building for the future, but they forgot one key detail: the future needs players who can actually score.

The Saturday before Christmas, we met up with Sue and Ron Korkowski for dinner and a show. We kicked things off at Holman’s Table in St. Paul, a spot that somehow manages to make eating next to an airport feel classy. Between the Art Deco vibes, runway views, and a pretty good steak, it’s safe to say this place lives up to the hype.

It’s like dining in the set of Mad Men, but instead of Don Draper, you’re surrounded by Minnesotans talking about snowplows. All in all, great food, great company, and no turbulence—what more can you ask for?

We went to see Trans-Siberian Orchestra for the first time, and wow—calling it a “Christmas concert” feels like calling the Super Bowl a friendly game of catch. Known for their over-the-top blend of rock, classical music, and holiday themes, these guys take festive to a whole new level.

The music was incredible, but what really blew me away was the light show and pyrotechnics. Fire, lasers, and smoke everywhere—it was like Christmas exploded and then set itself on fire for dramatic effect. By the end, I wasn’t just in the Christmas spirit; I was practically ready to shoot my own music video in front of a burning yule log. Highly recommend.

Christmas this year was a quiet one with just the four of us, thanks to all the excitement of my niece’s wedding in Oklahoma. Grandma Linda joined us for dinner on Christmas Eve, and Abby headed to Atlanta to be with her family, leaving us to tackle gift-opening as a smaller crew.

It wasn’t the big, chaotic gathering we’re used to, but honestly? I still had a blast. Sometimes it’s nice to keep things low-key—though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the usual holiday chaos. Turns out, fewer people just means fewer witnesses to your bad gift-wrapping skills.

We spent Christmas Eve playing games, both digital and analog, because nothing says family bonding like trying to crush each other’s dreams in Settlers of Catan. It’s all fun and games until someone hoards all the brick.

Eventually, we had to call it a night so Santa could sneak in, because apparently, the big guy draws the line at making his deliveries in front of grown adults arguing over sheep trades. Classic Christmas magic.

Last Sunday, Luke and I watched the Vikings take down our hated rivals, the Packers, for their 9th straight win. Sweet victory doesn’t even begin to cover it—nothing beats beating the cheeseheads in front of a roaring home crowd.

Now it’s all set up for tonight: 14-2 Vikings vs. 14-2 Lions. Winner gets the #1 seed, a first-round bye, and home-field advantage. Loser? Wild card. On the road. In January. Big stakes. Let’s go, Vikings—don’t let us down. SKOL!

When Abby came home, we all got together again for dinner and another round of gift exchanges. It was great having her back—we missed her—but we’re holding out hope that someday we’ll all manage to be in the same place for Christmas.

Until then, we’ll enjoy the moments we do get together!

We’ve been ringing in the New Year at Karl and Tina Zitzewitz’s party for years now, and it never disappoints. Great people, great food, and just the right amount of chaos to remind you why you don’t host.

Every year, it’s the perfect way to say goodbye to all the bad decisions of the last 12 months while making brand-new ones for the year ahead. Cheers to tradition!

I’m pumped to see what 2025 has in store—hopefully, a lot more good than bad. But no matter what comes our way, I feel incredibly lucky to face it with Miss Sheri by my side. Honestly, with her around, I’m pretty sure we can handle anything… except maybe putting together IKEA furniture without a fight. Here’s to another year of adventure!