Say cheese.

Today's joie de vivre is Wisconsin cheese. You'll have to pardon me when I say this, vegans and those intolerant of all things lactose, but there is nothing greater, nothing finer, than a slice of Wisconsin cheese on top a cracker or when it's in cahoots with a sandwich.

I'll take cheese in almost any form, although I draw the line once it turns blue. But in almost every case, I prefer that it come from Wisconsin.

Why? It all boils down to pride. When I first meet someone here and they find out I'm from Wisconsin, 9 times out of 10 they will mention cheese (honorable mention: beer, the packers, and "Damn, I hear it's cold there"). I always welcome the cheese conversation, quite truthfully. I might go on to mention I have a cheese poster in my bedroom, or that I carried two pounds of it in my suitcase on my last trip back from the Badger state. I might mention a bumper sticker I have which states "Life is too short to live on grocery store cheese." I will very likely get into a rant about the sheer audacity of California's dairy campaign.

When I was growing up, my family used to pile into our van after church and head down the road to Rudolph, Wisconsin where we were known to pick up $80 of cheese in a single afternoon. Cheese and I go way back - we have a wonderful history together. If I want a piece of joy, I need to look no further than my refrigerator after a recent visit home. Behold, the power of cheese.