JESSE READY FOR THE MAIN EVENT EX-WRESTLER VENTURA TAKES OFFICE TODAY

The new governor of Minnesota doesn't know exactly what he'll do in office
yet, but he has made one decision: no appointments before 9 a.m.

Why?

"Arnold was very worried about me," the governor-elect said the other day.
"Arnold told me I really have to get back to working out, so that's what
I'm going to do every morning."

That's Arnold Schwarzenegger, of course. He was offering advice to his
friend and fellow muscleman, Jesse "The Body" Ventura, the former
professional wrestler who now holds Minnesota's highest office.

As Ventura becomes governor today, there's still a lot up in the air.

How will Ventura, who won 37 percent of the vote under the banner of the
Reform Party, work with a House of Representatives controlled by
Republicans and a Senate controlled by Democrats? What will Ventura's
policies be? And how will a self-styled outsider who ran under the slogan
"Retaliate in '98" adjust to being part of the political establishment?

One thing seems clear: Ventura will be unlike any governor Minnesota - or
any state, for that matter - has ever seen.

He has already been the subject of the "Doonesbury" comic strip and a guest
on the Jay Leno and David Letterman talk shows. He has signed a six-figure
book deal. And he is arranging for the sale of Jesse Ventura action figures
and T- shirts with slogans like "In Jesse We Trust."

Even his elaborate inauguration events seems unprecedented, including a
gigantic party for 13,800 in a basketball arena. Tickets at $10, $15 and
$20 sold out long ago. Ventura has, however, forgone his initial promise to
arrive at the official inauguration by rappelling from a helicopter down
through the Capitol dome. His staff concluded it's a little too dangerous.

"This is strange stuff," said Steven Schier, chairman of the political
science department at Carleton College in Northfield. "Usually a governor
comes in and you know where he stands, who his enemies are and what he's
going to do for the next four years."

Ventura, Schier said, is "working hard at it and he's smart, but the
problem is he's got zero background."

Ventura, the strapping, chrome-domed, former bad-boy wrestler, action-film
actor and talk radio host, stunned prognosticators by trouncing two
respected and widely known opponents, Democratic Attorney General Hubert
Humphrey III and the Republican mayor of St. Paul, Norm Coleman.

Many of his supporters were young people, especially men, with nearly half
claiming only a high school education. They saw something refreshing in
Ventura, whose previous political experience was as a part-time suburban
mayor who voted in only four of the last 14 elections.

Now, Ventura has put away his leather jacket and jeans - and the camouflage
outfit and Australian bush hat.

"Suits used to take me 40 minutes," said Ventura, who has a gift for
shifting quickly between his entertainer and politician personas. "Now I
can do it in 12."

He is getting used to a chauffeured sedan instead of his beloved Porsche.
And he has submitted to a phalanx of bodyguards because "it wouldn't be too
good if the governor knocks somebody down."

Aware he has a lot to learn, he has assembled an advisory committee and
staff, drawing some of the more respected, independent-minded people from
all parties. He has toured the state and visited state departments. But he
has just begun to assemble a Cabinet and says that will take more time.

"We're like the discoverers of the New World," Ventura said in his
transition office in the basement of the Capitol building, where he has
hung a neon sign with the words "Jesse the Gov" and an image of Rodin's
"The Thinker," a pose Ventura struck in one of his campaign commercials.
"There was no one who could sit there and say, `Been there, done that.' "

Since the election, Ventura, who is considered fiscally conservative and
socially progressive on such issues as abortion, has given few concrete
hints about his policies, saying he wants to be prudent and consider a
range of ideas.

When asked on the day after the election about the details of his tax-cut
proposals, Ventura responded, "Oh, sheesh."

In a recent speech to farmers, he said he wanted to "deregulate some
stuff," which he later said referred to lifting restrictions, like
prohibition on growing industrial hemp.

And during the campaign, he criticized state-subsidized child care and the
state's health-insurance program for children. He said families should not
have children until they could afford them.

Ventura now suggests a more moderate tone. His chief of staff, Steven
Bosacker, said that Ventura had a habit of saying things to provoke debate,
rather than establish a policy stance.

"I think, unfortunately, people tend to believe that as soon as you make a
comment, that's your firm position," Bosacker said.

Ventura is finding that even firm campaign pledges require careful
implementation. After promising to refund the state surplus in increments
of $1,000 for every man, woman and child, Ventura is now evaluating
different options and wants to wait until the end of the budget period in
June to make sure the state has the money.

While he is treading carefully, Ventura has managed to push the envelope -
especially in an ethically straight-laced state. After refusing campaign
contributions from political action committees, he has accepted corporate
donations for transition costs.

He has proposed that his wife be paid a salary. And he wants to put money
from sale of T-shirts and action figures into his campaign fund, but will
give it to charity if the state's campaign ethics board says no.

"A whole host of things have come out that are extremely unconventional,"
said Steve Sviggum, the Republican state House speaker. "I guess I would
just as soon that he focus on the job that he ran for."

So far, though, complaints are rare. A Minneapolis Star-Tribune poll in
December found that more people would vote for Ventura today than did in
November.