The average person who watches the weather on the evening news is paying attention to see if they have to wake up a half hour early to warm up their car and shovel the driveway.

Some have another goal in their head as they watch the blue and green radar blob surge through the Midwest. They watch the weather for the prize of finding the perfect wave to surf on our humble lake front shores.

Brian Hadfield is spending his Friday night a little differently than he normally does. Instead of spending time with his usual crowd – his rugby teammates – he is surrounded by 60 some rambunctious kids in the YMCA gym. The Mentor Duluth program is hosting its annual holiday party here, and Brian is careful to keep his eye on his mentee, Matt.

Walking up the creaky, wooden stairs and into a room with only a sunken futon and a television resting on an upside down garbage can, this house seems to resemble that of any other male college student. However, venturing into the house just a few steps further, one enters a whole new world.

It's the world of online gambling. Rob, an incoming sophomore at UMD, sits in a small room, a palace of technology. Four flat-screen computers accompanied only by other technology equipment rest on a sturdy, oversized desk. In the kitchen are a sink of last week's dirty dishes and a stack of mail lying next to empty pizza boxes. But in this room, there are no distractions, except maybe intertwining cords turning this way and that.

By now it’s almost 4 o’clock. Earl Sullivan’s workday is coming to an end. In just minutes his replacement will walk in. Sullivan has had the store open since 9 a.m. He’s seen about a dozen customers so far today — his regulars.

When you walk into the basement of The Ski Hut on Fourth Street, you might get the image of Santa’s workshop in your head. Then you start to think. These guys down here are way cooler than elves and these toys are a little bit better than the ones Santa left for you.

Megan Swanson sits on her bed in a robe, leaning back against a Disney princess pillow. She just showered after rugby practice and is now examining her arms and legs carefully.

“Wow I can’t believe they are so big,� she says, poking and prodding the bruises that are scattered across her body. “It looks like I got beat up,� she adds, a proud smile spreading across her face.

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By MICHAEL NOVITZKI
DCN Correspondent

On the corner of First Avenue West and First Street sits a beacon of hope that seeks to make a difference by reaching out to the youth.

Most of the kids that come through the doors of Life House at 3 p.m. every day seem blissfully unaware of the fact that their favorite hangout is about to be the next victim of the financial collapse. A $30,000 debt has been threatening to force the organization’s doors shut by the end of the year.

In West Duluth, the Duluth Pack factory hums and grinds as workers sew together their patented luggage packs. After thick layers of canvas are custom cut to the type of pack being made, they are handed off to a seamstress – or seamster, in the some cases – to be sewn into more recognizable and usable shapes. Some workers wear headphones, listening to Harry Potter books-on-tape to drown out the noise.

Despite pressure to modernize the way the company operates, Duluth Pack is still using the same methods that they've been using since the company's founding in the late 1800’s.

Behind the hoisting of Duluth's Aerial Lift Bridge is, oddly enough, a man in a La-Z-Boy pushing a big green button labeled "RAISE."

This morning, Ryan Beamer is that man.

Snow sticking to their boot soles, a group of three middle-aged women passed through the front door of Sara’s Table, breathless and rosy cheeked from the strong afternoon wind. Anders Lundahls’ footsteps create dull squeaks across the wooden floor following their melting footprints.

“Can I grab all of you a cup of coffee, hot chocolate? I know how cold it is outside. I had to scrape off my windshield this morning,� Lundahl asks them, placing menus in front of them and opening the menu’s cover with pancake-flipping precision.

Coffee, check. Pie, check. Napkins and plates, check. Anything else?

“Hmm...They might want something to eat it with,� Joan Bushnell thinks aloud sarcastically, as she grabs forks out of the kitchen drawer and spread them out on the counter.

He runs his hands over the burnt-orange colored leather, cutting away pieces to fit around the rough base of the defenders.

Scratching away the remaining plaster with sandpaper, the mold of the mount is ready to be covered.

Mounting deer antlers is something that comes naturally to Randy Bowe, owner of Bowe Taxidermy in Lakeside and member of the National Taxidermy Association. His large,callused hands meet the roughness of the deer’s antlers while he polishes the tips of the ten pointer.

With his hands and forearms covered in white, powdery flower, Jamie Solem waits patiently. Standing behind the counter, his body language speaks volumes about the way business at Sammy’s Pizza has been going for the night.

Black and white adhesive stickers spell “barbershop� on the window next to the door. I open the door that has a hand-written sign displaying the hours hanging on it and see that Don Hanson is midway through a trim of one of his regular’s hair.