Hudson Wisconsin Nightlife

From The Body to The Arnold, and we’ve got a Hunch there’s more …
– A regular patron at Dick’s Bar and Grill was a high school classmate of wrestler, governor and litigant Jesse Ventura, although we presume more attentive to his studies, (a member of the debate team and near the top of his class, rather than a consumate jock). Meanwhile, a few stools down and not to be outdone, a former sniper was describing in great detail the science of shooting, such as the fact that a bullet’s course can be changed slightly by things such as the gravitational pull between two mountains and the subsequent drop in air pressure between them. His language was technical enough that eyes glazed over. Can’t we just hear something out of an action movie, such as descriptions of Navy SEALS doing their thing? If Jesse is listening, be careful what you say.
– If that weren’t enough, a Village Inn patron revealed that a buddy of his knows a weightlifting friend of Arnold Schwarzenegger, and had scored an invitation to The Arnold’s wedding. But not everyone can be on a first-name basis with this non-girlie-man. One of the Minnesota Vikings, Fred Evans, was joking with the media about how he got his rock-hard body, referencing imagined workouts with Hercules and Sylvester Stallone, (OK, if you’re a Viking, we almost expect you to be a bit dillusional). But what, no workouts with Schwarzenegger? “He was unavailable,” Evans said.
– At the Village Inn and also the Smilin’ Moose, a pair of bartenders both used the same words, that they got their “butts kicked” on a recent Saturday with customer overflow from the Euro-car show and a Packer preseason game. In the latter case at The Village, they were the only ones with a monopoly on the game telecast.
– As preseason unfolded, a man fan at Dick’s got a special offer in response to his Goldilocks braid, Viking hat and horns get-up. A woman said to him, “I could braid you for real.” He responded, “Don’t you do that to my hair. Just do it to your own.”
– An X marks the spot, in the case of the names of the ex-king and court of North Hudson Pepper Festival. This crosshatching was literally drawn across the front of their signatures, to obscure them, as the ownership of, and bragging rights for, that five-foot-high ceremonial green pepper was being transferred. Or as one out-of-towner thought it was, a green apple.
– And speaking of things prominent in The Village, what is it with all the good guys passing on? The death of the man known simply as Hunch was observed in a three-hour Friday morning ceremony at The Village, a place where he was a fixture and with whom his name will be forever intertwined. I never knew Hunch well, but he always welcomed me to his home away from home. I have a hunch that I know where he is right now.
– On a hunch, I sang karaoke at Ground Zero during River Falls Days, namely some Iron Maiden. Even though that is very Old School, many of the very young guys listening on the dance floor really got into it and strutted their stuff. They then got on stage themselves and did a killer version of Queen’s Bohemian Raspsody, not an easy one to pull off, which set the stage for several such quality renderings. Meanwhile, there were chalk markings all over the sidewalks announcing the impending arrival of the new and improved “new Boomers,” which is actually named Moonshiners, and promises to have expanded hours.
– During a late-night weekend foray, I saw a man wearing reflective construction garb waving people on at the corner of Walnut and Second streets, where there had been major road work done and a big sign said to watch your step. I thought to myself, the city and its work crews must really be putting safety at a premium to be out this late waving on traffic. On my way back home, I found I had been barking up the wrong tree, since there were a couple of joggers with similar reflective clothing going down the main drag. This, indeed, was the weekend of the annual Ragnar race, which features hundreds of miles of 24-hour relay running and cuts through Hudson in the wee hours.

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