Minnesota

I spend a fair amount of time in places other than my Midwest Wisconsin home. Therefore, I need to lodge a complaint to the rest of America. I am not, repeat not, from Minnesota (or Minn-ah-soda, if pronounced with the regional accent). Nor do I have any desire to be a Golden Gopher.

People in New Mexico are amused that many Americans mistake their state for an entire country, Mexico. We Wisconsinites have no such luck. We are diminished to the status of a gigantic Minneapolis suburb.
My aunt’s eye doctor (in New Mexico which I know is a state) is a prime example. He knows I fly in to accompany my aunt to her appointments. Yet every visit he says to me, “How are things in – um – Minnesota?” “Great, as far as I know,” I reply. And then I tell him for the umpteenth time that I live in Wisconsin. I am seriously considering wearing a large cheesehead to my aunt’s next appointment. A Green Bay Packer sweatshirt will probably be necessary, too.
Wisconsin is desperately in need of a serious branding campaign. Our license plates meekly say “America’s Dairyland”. I suggest we replace this with “Eat Cheese or Die”. That will get us a bit of well-deserved attention. Residents of the Big Mitten, rise up! We’ve got nothing to lose – but Minnesota.

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