This may be a case of he said versus he said, countered with what a third said, maybe about both, politically speaking. Trash talking … But not Bird vs. Magic. Maul and ball like Lakers with Lorry. But rather, irrelevantly irreverent while wacky remarks as a press conference meets slapstick of sorts with flinging of muddy, bloodied names across prime air space and conference tables long as runways by three or more warring factions, winner take a Mexican standoff. Nobody wins … Wisk away the waif.

So, this tale is about Trump about Putin about Mr. Z, as I will call him, and God forbid and I bless him, as a Dr. Zhivago? Back and forth, like pols. And not a power trio. Or are they?? (And forget Zepp and Purple and Priest, this is a new unholy trinity, wholly taken, as only one of these men is devout, much less a church-goer, and unless speaking up we also end up tagging along behind, though singing hymns of praise, if we follow their agenda(s). Wish becomes want becomes need, another paradoxical triad, if you are the right pardonable person. And spouse makes three involved.

So to dig into the dirt: Putin calls Trump a cretin, much so like a week or so back, after Trump was miffed after Putin’s big missile strike, taking away all the flack from the Big, Beautiful Budget Bill, many pounds of it setting behind the table, not read on into the day. Mr Z chimed in, like an off-chorus guitar, but saying accurately I must say, that Putin was a moron after often understating how much more territory was actually made into mulch. Trump, as he often does, fired back for whatever reason, that the duo each were off by a diminutive dose of decimeters, as he would bloody well share a quite-good-pint-over-coffee-conversation with Putin. Mr. Z shot in return that both were dunces.

Trump reciprocated by slapping more tariffs on both of them. Putin said, in turn, that maybe Canada could step in, again, and save the energy grid of the whole world, his country included, by shipping in some power as it has or had done for the US, as in electricity. Trump charged asleep at the wheel, while singing along to the radio, and pundits punditted if he was talking about auto tariffs.

Mr Z said they were all as nuts as China, then retracted that by using an electronic device he bought from China, saying they were as dumb as a fox, then thought about Fox News and again rethought his thought.

Elon Musk, before said to depart but who really knows, made the news (a last time?) by saying that the Big Bad Much Bantied About Beautiful Budget Bill was bunk. And where is Biden? Now bantying in?

The pennies or maybe dimes, not dollars involved, in low-value minutia tariffs that will still effect many millions, were thus harmonized by Trump, (and by some all of it is linked to aiding the opening of a synthetic opioid chain?), de minimis, and that’s only China, which they debunked in a statement, as bald-faced blah, blah, blah becomes more blah, blah, blah …

Who woulda thunk it?

Though sometimes with a roar, rockers ripping on other rockers is rare, despite what the many trumped up headlines online tell you, would-be pundits pumping incipit stories with quite little bite that instead demonstrate there is no real beef between the parties involved. Not like Hetfields vs. the Real McCoys.

But these days when politics get involved … The real Real McCoy, Kid Rock called out Springsteen, who called out Trump, who called up Musk, who dressed down many thousands with firings, and beefed up with funding and manpower ICE, who pulled out an even greater number, with those (mostly) illegal immigrants to be deported..

But let’s start with The Boss, and its not Trump. From stage of a pack show in Europe, positioned between sound speakers, he roundly denounced Trump and his administration, but frankly could have been even tougher on him. The language used in the criticism was kind of on the nice side, all things considered.

Still, both Trump and Kid Rock used much harsher language to shoot back, and Trump even said that Springsteen has no talent, and that he would face a just-as-harsh reception when he gets back to The States from his tour of concerts in other countries.

Now wait a minute. Springsteen has no talent? Clarence Clemmons would roll over in his grave and use his sax to blow Trump off the golf course.

This has been the same tired old tack used from all from conservatives to cops to say that rockers are not musically gifted, when the opposite is obvious. This even more than the usually misguided criticism of their lyrical message shows that the ones Fighting the Foo and friends have little credibility.

Springsteen has said that he speaks in favor of Democrats and the disadvantaged when the times call for it. That’s when he gets political, which is when he’s often at his best. And it doesn’t just end with Born In The USA, which unless you are living in a cave you know is critical of the US role in the Vietnam War.

Other examples of people just simply having no clue as far as critiquing music are much earlier, before there even was much of such a thing as death metal and the like, when a St. Paul Pioneer Press family-life columnist ripped on Marilyn Manson, and a police group raked on Rage Against The Machine. Manson was said to be found, by his curious rock-newbie son, to be seen as a non-talent when the young gun actually got to the concert venue, and such a show was actually banned at Somerset. When Rage raged, the cops were simply mad that the band had rallied against the wrongful death of a man at their hands. The powerful but spot-on lyrics made me wonder if I could even get away with singing the song, at times explicit, at karaoke. Like when a deejay, based on the lyrics-misunderstood complaint of his wife, refused to honor a request that I sing Closer by Nine Inch Nails.

Lastly, a group back in the day when there weren’t ones around every corner had their show cancelled in Hammond. What agaian? The Amish Armada proved at a later gig that did go on in nearby River Falls, to have one of the most entertaining shows, although a little raunchy, I had seen to that time. (There were questionable doings with a plastic doll, like if you add a second one, trending toward the reference by Trump that kids should suck it up and help absorb the hurt of tariffs by not having 30.) But the anti-band hype was just that. By the way, do you get the upshot of the irony of the name? The Amish do not live near hardly any large bodies of water. But an entertainment editor at the Eau Claire Leader-Telegram was spooked by the complaints of the locals and herself didn’t get it, so she nixed my story and called while I was on vacation to complain to me.

The Amish Armada, a group of talented mostly high schoolers, in a way that resonates greatly now, about three decades later, viewed themselves as a spoof but I saw something more and deeper in their original lyrics, which often spoke against colonialism.

Changing tune …

And aiming at such lyrics about now sea-faring farmers? Topical today. If you can get the goods produced, such as produce, across those seven seas fast enough. With tariffs, and the fact they’d go into effect literally a tick of the clock past midnight (which time zone?) on a day that was a deadline, well put, for exactly when the duties rate would almost double, the clock would start ticking the moment they left port and would hit the high seas, with the upshot being ships already on the ocean would not be subject to the increase. So the duties of the deckhands would include scrambling across the deck fast in the middle of the night to get past that last lakeside buoy in time. Whatever floats your boat.

And gets it to turn around, like a canoeist with just one paddle, pick left or right side, and ends up going in a circle. The case was something like this, one would think, if warships deployed in the midst of the long and quickly changing series of ceasefires, or especially those hauling away to-be-imprisoned deportees, had their orders and directions reversed because a court just met and overturned them. Could have even convened just after midnight, a time close to that when lawmakers got together over that Big Beautiful Bombastic Budget Bill. Of course such a reversal is exactly what also happened when a busload of deportees courted by a court, heading south and not for spring break, ending up abruptly turning around and heading home back north. Think there was a bill in Congress to have a new exit ramp constructed on the spot to allow a split-second U-turn. For once they’d be getting something done quickly.

That bus trip went bust just like that. It could happen again if you take a different road and head east to look at another series of busts, those figure-heads of presidents set in the stone on Mount Rushmore. It has been proposed that Trump’s mug be put up there as well, but it most certainly would be vandalized like oh so many Teslas. I think that was a rider on a bill to change the name of the Gulf of Mexico. Oh wait, that wasn’t a bill. It was an executive order, part of which was to have the author put himself up on a mountaintop. After all, Trump has to simply wave his magic wand and things happen. Look how to has made America great again, given us the best economy ever, made grocery prices go below zero …

Though ICE has gone after some musicians, in most cases the ones owning bar and grills via their staff — Vanilla Ice to the best of my knowledge has gone unscathed, as he is just too … vanilla.

If you heat it up a bit, as in spicier toppings on your entrees, you just might get a trip South of the Border. Free transit — does that bus in these days of climate change have AC, standing for American Crossing? — to go to international-prison incarceration, on the dime of the taxpayer. But will the cost to them, as someone has to pay for all these raids, be more than just upping your tip amount?

Rockers have been in the news for more than just miss-striking a chord on guitar, which is rare even in live shows. They have struck a chord with their political views, and the fallout that comes from anything close to free speech. In at least in one prominent case, their restaurants have been virtually shut down.

— So wanna burger? Maybe you are grilling out, rather then going out and about, on Memorial Day weekend. So here is a hamburger tip courtesy of Festival Foods and the big one on the cover of recent ads. They say: Stop in. Cook out.

Wait, is that not contradictory? Anyway here is what I advise you do, following The Rules Of Fifths. (It is up to you to decide and determine how many fifths of booze you want on your boat cruise or deck party.) Here we go, ordered from top to bottom, the five components of a really cool burger, all close to the same height, about an inch: Big bun, basic or otherwise; a stack of veggies, pickles on top, then onions and lettuce and cheese; 93 percent lean ground beef in a thick patty; the same veggies stacked up in the same way and add tomato; then the other half of the bun.

What makes this cool is that all five layers weigh in at the same 20 percent in height, even after frying, at least according to the Festival Foods cover burger. (You can screw it up by adding bacon, or a slew of other condiments and toppings, pulling it up to seven layers, and at least a half-foot high, if you score each ingredient at 16.67 percent, and with bacon that might be pushing it.

Here’s where we heat up the info. There are many different kinds of cheese you could use, of course, maybe in tandem and going beyond cheddar or American, and pick a kind that has other non-dairy pieces blended in. The same with using onions of various colors, and can we go purple and also include seared red cabbage? The lettuce could be romaine or other leafy alternatives to iceberg, and you might even chop up a hot pepper.

But be careful about the price of ground beef, as these days it might add up more than too many Fifths. I mentioned loin on sale recently at a meat market for $6.29 a pound, and now at such a market we have basic hamburger, at the 85 percent lean and in bulk rate, for $6.99, mixing apples and oranges again, but up 70 cents. —

Three of the Nashville steakhouse and bar venues owner by Kid Rock had the “closed” sign put up on their door the weekend before Memorial Day weekend — don’t get it wrong and call it Labor Day or heaven help writer and country make a typo and term ICE as ISIS — as workers either called in sick or were sent home really early because of rumored ICE raids later that day. This was more feared than getting a pink slip because you made the steak too pink/rare.

— But there’s more to to Kid Rock then rolling joints, as shown below as I analyze his song “Cowboy.” It tells the ever-present tale of trying to make riches Out West in Hollywood, but his gold is of a different type, though his phrasing is sophisticated in an odd rap way. However, he paints a Picture well in more than one song, and tells about downtrodden laborers who at least have the access to party like rock stars in their rare time off from being a prep cook or hotel maid: “Palm trees an’ weeds, scabbed knees and’rice, (he could have said ICE), get a map to the stars, find Heidi Fleiss …” And who do they work for, the irony is it could be Kid Rock! “Get West Coast pussy for my Detroit players, Mack like mayors, ball like Lakers …” The Mack reference, too as coy, could be a nod to Mack the Knife.

See more below. —

It turns out that ardent Trump supporter Kid Rock, in an ultimate show of hypocrisy, had undocumented workers slaving over the hot stoves needed to make steak for his customers. The same type Trump wants to send packing.   

Is this not the ultimate irony and case of bite the hand that feeds you?

So Kid Rock, who once famously sang-rapped, “I can smell a pig a mile away,” (from Nashville?), is in the hot seat and not as a fry cook. The guy does have talent, and helped make it cool to be white trailer trash — there are ironies everywhere here — with his debut album. But he has put on the patriotic pants, both literally and figuratively and putted on the golf course with Trump — can someone who thinks with like mind about immigrants safely take a mulligan? — and performed for him too, at an event or two, as the trailer home meets White House.

So where is a song from such a man coming? Never to be shy with words, I’ll take a stab. The first thing that always stabbed at me when my bartender friend Danyiel played Cowboy (jukebox version) to death when it first came out is this line: “Cuss like a sailor, drink like a mick. My only words of wisdom are ‘radio edit’ … and so on.” (You can guess what the full three words are.) At first not a fan of this line or two, but as I like Kid Rock grow older decades later, I appreciate this is an original bit of genius. Normally a radio bleep is just a single bad word, and the censors must be sleeping on the job because they often miss one, this goes back as far as The Who, but this is three words, constituting in its constitution an entire phrase. One more f— you to the establishment, even if that’s just those insane record labels, as Kid Rock does have a message and it resonates. (Like any too dumb to turn down back in turn-table days extending an offer to Insane Clown Posse, damn, and just ask Dr. Phil.) But I would make it better, by saying “think” like a mick, as it gives secondary rhyme and we’ve already established the drinking part after pulling time-and-a-half, and not being careful where you throw the cans. And Kid Rock understands the mindset of a construction roofer or carpenter, and plays to them just as well as Trump.

You’ll have to wait just a bit for the rest of the full story on what makes Kid Rock tick and the message he’s trying to get across, and two other singers who have recently gotten caught up in the web of ICE, and this could be seen as the mutual plight of extreme rural meets inner-city urban, and the blue-collar blues. This will be added soon to this piece, including the draw to Trump, and is the next in line.

Hey, here it is. One of his most famous, and noteworthy songs is the aforementioned upbeat ode to wanna be a cowboy, modern-day style. It captures the angst of the laborer class, who is trying to attain a better stead and sees barriers and proper-in-society people in the way, and thus turns to a life lived on the edge of being legal, or ethical. Lyrics say, amongst other things, to get a drop-top trashy truck “and find a spot to pimp.” It is presented in a manner that is almost comedic, and self-deprecating, but also a send-up to such an on-the-edge lifestyle, with a styling of phrase that is very much like rap, gangsta or otherwise.

Such a one where you might read the word, as heard on the street, put out there that ICE is coming. Despite coming from an affluent family, Kid Rock might be in that category, too, and take a peak back at that first lyrics phrase I cited. He has in recent days distanced himself from his Nashville restaurants, and adding that he is not really the owner, at least not fully, and does not keeps tabs on their day-to-day operations. He also says he backs deportation of illegals, but supports having people immigrate here legally and following the required procedures, a rare nod by someone on the right wing to due process.

In topics to later be explored fully, Kid Rock is like many other rockers in that he has both accumulated a tremendous wealth of assets, well over $100 million, and has given a lot to various charitable causes. But unlike so many others, especially earlier musicians, he is a shrewd businessman, and arguably has moved beyond his commoner persona to become Hollywood upper-crust. But being a Trump backer, he has had a real beef with one of rock’s superstars, Bruce Springsteen, who has criticized the current president from the stage with lengthy speeches, despite also dealing with working class issues, but with a different twist. Also speaking out against Trump noticeably in such a way are Bono and Pearl Jam. I will keep following that conflict and report back.

It is said to gamble (with life) is to dance with the devil (in death). Two at once. (And likely Lemmy is both, as they can be twins.) Even as snake eyes.

So doth two men the other night at Dick’s Bar, and forget the (ending) grill part on this fine evening that tempted fire, and not just on the proverbial grill. As a third man, me, listened. (A usual fourth with such knowledge is currently on injured reserve with a bad Achilles, so benched and not at the bar.) So two men talked, and then there were those other two of us.

Thus, here are some sports gambling guffaws gone over at length, over and under, that included Giannus and the recent T-Wolves pre-game gallantry when our that-evening bartender attended, in person in Minneapolis on the revelry of other nights. When he was there, ever present when traveling to be party hardy, they had game and they won, with great gains. When returning to the bar behind his post, they were toast, and lost. (As far as the Greek Freak, my family in full is from the Milwaukee area — minus my uncle and family from around Appleton — so I don’t dare mention the Woofies. Though they do think it cool, sorta, that I am friend-of-a-friend with AP.)

I minus my family had just gotten through watching an episode of Modern Family, although mine is a little more like a bit more mundane mashup of the Married With Children, those two of us spawn from the two of them. But those other two, that guy that night sitting next to me and the one standing across from me, were throwing around and across numbers to make the head spin. I could not decipher their meaning. But the gist of the man who was also quick with a joke, that there was one night that a role player versus the Bucks had gone eight-for-eight from behind the arc to defeat them, and there was no way he could do that again, so the bet was made. Read the shots, whether of tequila or three-pointers, and weep.

The other regular guy, and they obviously had gone through a differing version of this conversation before, took a swig of his brandy, or was it bourbon, and told of his bet(s). And his love of NASCAR racing. And his liking of a particular driver or two. The mechanic (or two) were inadvertently I assume, omitted. And forget the guy who spins the wheels, two by two.

Then, on the TV screen across the bar in the other direction, ESPN announced the news that as far as betting reinstatement, a postmortem Pete Rose was in. Now for referencing by trash talkers only, Rose was only briefly pedaled where we were sitting, then they moved on to more current sports betting.

The new bad guy …

His picture was on the wall. Of shame. Behind the bar. Set on an angle. And not just for walking out on a tab. Or maybe he did, in a way …

This evil bastard stole money at a lot of bars in Hudson, allegedly, based out of Eau Claire not having escaped from prison in Oak Park Heights, or some other Cities locale, with the use of a monster-magnitude magnet. He would attach, again allegedly, this special thingee to the machine(s), stick it on their side and twist, maybe, and it messes up the computer mechanisms so it virtually spits out money. (Lots of it and reportedly across many establishments that go all around the area, not just Hudson, although there are many victims justa there.) Sorta. Uhm, you still have to cash out.

And here is where we invoke stupid criminal tricks. He left behind his ID so he could come back the next day and claim his many hundreds or more of ill-gotten-gains. So his photo could be found, also, on the tavern taped video and blown up and printed out and disseminated.

So this anti-Christ superstar and gambling machine scammer is banned from bars all around much of the west-central Wisconsin region and nine-county metro area. I assume he has not come back here yet, so to be caught, when sticking it to another machine.

The constant news on quakes and such of the spring/summer has been quaking lately, even though there was that related time when mom thought it was cool to dance on the tabletop, spilling the water that was eventually melding into wine, since the food was slow in coming …

— And to segue yes, tariffs have now hit with their impact, officially, on grocery prices, we are told. As the postponements are now past, athough tracking it gets to be tricky. And with these, we are assured by all but Trump — such as these are co-current with the student loan forgiveness now no longer being fully foregiven — prices on things from (thongs) to produce to protein will soon if not as we speak go up. Two examples follow.

At the local County Market grocery store, and boy have they amped up their great service as everyone is competing to dine for a smaller dime that is now a nickel, even though they spend like it is a full buck, though all taking no quarter, we see and have seen this: That long aisle for mineral and drinking water, and we won’t even mentioned distilled, has had multiple shelves for top-demand product virtually empty at times, while other brands have half-pallets waiting to be stocked sitting beneath. I don’t know if this has to do with tariff to-do or supply chain shortages or whatnot, but I had not seen this there before, and now have twice in a week or two. (I will admit this passage is a take-a-passby and see what you can see in various stores, not a scientific study, since as I’ve said, things change so quickly these days, so be skeptical if you wish.) More-over, County Market offered all-natural bone-in center-cut family-pack pork chops for $2.69 a pound early last month, where now at a local meat shop (butchery?) and I know this may be to compare apples to oranges and make note of a different type of chop other than pork, to transpose numbers a bit, it’s $6.29 per pound per loin. Has tariff fever hit? —

OK, Lake Michigan was not nearly displaced — that would take my aging uncle diving in even back in just-post-college days — but if you were in touristing over in Bangkok it might have sent waves over the wall railing-edge of a hotel rooftop pool. That’s when mom first started baking a cake for a whole host of spring holidays, before she was feted on Mother’s Day, with quagmires of chocolate all-around. OK, I made the part up about my mom dancing on tablecloths, but not my uncle in the pool, which coulda, shoulda been verified by my old friend, who had lived in Bangkok, born and raised there, and said that there are some places you can safely go, but she should know about dancing there due to our discussion of the song referencing “Another night in Bangkok,” and what it will do to even strong men, because of other places such as seedy hotels …

— Eggxactly. Omelettes are back in for Mother’s May, and previously Easter too, since County Market issued a freebie for a dozen large eggs, good through June 30, and Kwik Trip another such but less timely egg freebie, despite the high costs associated with Bird Flu, unless it is now quelled. And the County Market flyer also hawked an associated free pound of bananas, despite tariff price concerns, although a pound does not typically cost them that much anyway, so chopped fruit for brunches on both holidays? But they need to check their mailing list. It was sent specifically to me — I guess they thought mom needs some love after me teasing her about dancing on the tabletop — saying welcome to the neighborhood, and we wish you all the best in your new home. Uhm, I have lived here for two years and two rounds of the holidays, and it’s an apartment!

As long as we are referencing the highest Catholic Holy Day, we have to mention the next following-event, post-conclave sign above Agave Kitchen, saying simply Habemus Papam, in other words and there often are many when associated with Catholicism, we have a (new) pope!

Simply put, the announcement is usually made by a senior cardinal deacon, along with the now famous white smoke. Does owner Paul have such a rank, and was there such a wisp above the third story of his building? (I must admit when I first saw the proclamation written on the wall, I thought it could be a bad death metal CD title, or possible a (new) musician character in the band Ghost.) —

And the friend should know about dancing as she could do not only the splits but a move where her one knee was fully bent down and the other stuck out over the floor about six-inches high all-around. Even at 63, I can still — almost — do the splits and used to even dunk a basketball, barely pushing it over the front of the rim. Both a very young server friend and not quite as young nephew took great dispute to that, as I further digress.

Anyway, it was back in late spring when the wake moved the earth throughout the bad parts of town, and shook hotels around the pristine part of the city, and now I will fully call it an earthquake, making pools many floors high tilt and spill their water in small sets of big splatters. No word on flowery drinks or tableside umbrellas; or the slums not far away. Water is hard to come by there. No pools. Barely a dripping faucet. A big building will behave that way too, if it’s tilted partly toward its side. Even when shown a bit later on TV news, crashing down toward the camera-man. Or mom taking a (rare) selfie.

Do they have earthquakes in Greenland? Or Iceland. Or Panama, you know where the big canal is, with China owning the port areas on both sides. We could get involved in even more rainy landslides and floods. Back INTO the sea. More likely icebergs. Like the H2O flows of killer hurricanes, but involving water as well as air. So get back in the studio with an easel, weather artist Karine. There is more signature art work to do, like was brushed in a church basement room and sold to aid the people who had lost roofs and more in and about their former houses. “When the levee breaks,” Led Zep sings, ” I’m gonna die today …” Dragged into the rising waters, like those flowing back into the seas.

Then hours later shown on the TV News. Quakes all the time, and they mostly in my quick take are along the south rim or near it of some continents. (Tornados it seems almost always accompany too, virtually daily.) That would include Florida and across to Texas, and up the Mississippi and Appalachians, with my niece formerly living near the base of that large water mass in big ol’ Texas. Is now, Madison with its mass (of people this time) any better?

The university there houses, or has housed many members of the family. Snow aplenty but no major storms in their neighborhoods, yet. There was that one deadly shooting not far away.

So try out the School Of Rock. The story (lyrics?) goes something like this: Video showing a bus, on cable TV every two hours in rotation. Drumming with your sticks on the back of the seat. Waiting … Or more telling, singing your heart out of an empty window. Then the band teacher came back on board next to the driver with news; he could have two decades ago been Jack Black, and I explained the trademark AC/DC song to mom. First there was second place. Slight polite applause. Then the biggie announcement. They won with that Voice.

But wait. No record deal. Many universities like others including Harvard are being challenged over what they teach, with a removal of their funding from the feds. So we have more legal challenges, hearings, injunctions, indictments, deportations, extensions, expulsions, suspensions if you are more lucky … The courts are so tied up with so many evildoers they are hiring as many bailiffs as judges. So many more very tall and bald guys are needed. Small guys need not apply. Not so much funky judges who do card tricks. This is not Night Court.

But back to mom and weather, to close. Her bad hip and lower back had been classified as a compression (depression) of her spine, in the areas of L4, L5 and I think L6. Here I’d thought those were hurricane strengths! Or is that tornado?

This is a man of not many faces but few, tethered to Tesla and to be forever known as its space-case frontman.

And that rock-star see-it-everywhere but not-just-where-staged face, might be ghoulish-looking as a Marilyn Manson or an Edgar Winter, and OK maybe a bit less pale, possibly in both cases. And these days, he’s maybe better known to all but the core audiences. Or be as geeky as in their western-Wisconsin-group comparison, the Dweebs, or if you look the wrong way when taking in the nationwide, Weezer. And while talking about themes like space travel, don’t forget all the geezers in those old metal bands. (But Musk does give much, a lot like Metallica, just not onstage, as those heavy metal all-stars are Major League when it comes to charity.)

Or in that Tesla territory’s philanthropy, which took center stage until he spread his axes onto those with whom his ilk has forged an angst on taxes among other things, further spawning unbelief in basically, democracy and due process and the rule of law.

— I just met an actual astronaut, in a space day at the local library, and we talked about, among other things Elon Musk. The space flight guy said that creative thinkers, who are a little out-there but have great but unconvential ideas, are the ones he’d put on his team. Such as maybe Musk, who he said is a bit odd though very smart, but because of the success of his main company is — how to say — a man to be reckoned with. Despite his political ambitions, which the autronaut described as simply “trolling.”

I mentioned to him that I’d just happened to stream the song Space Truckin’ by Deep Purple, which is about the Moonshot and race into space domination. He said that he liked the tune, but never got past playing the opening riff on the guitar, though he interjected, at least twice including when I was leaving the library, that he was curious about my interpretation of meaning and would listen again. —

Many of our leaders, and some of the masses, would be the ones awake to the establishment of a new Caesar, or a set of them going forward — that’s what one conservative think tank is calling for — and piously promoting their reign again on this end of the earth, this time. Trump, and also Musk, are closely watching this further unfold.

(At this juncture I must enter into, the point of, to those whom much is given, much will be expected, and should be received. We will get back around to that in a bit, with Musk’s charitable giving.)

First a further exploration of what got us to this point, as this is a new realm, bigger than those seen before in this century and maybe even the one before, and even entering into space, of unbridled aristocracy autonomous with audacious authoritarianism and autocracy.

— The nature of Musk’s charities, although they do include a big subdivisision built for his workers, does not exactly make him in the league of a Warren Buffett or Sam Walton, but hey, you still gotta give the guy credit. He’s giving back to at least some communities, something some of his ilk has been criticized for not doing. Because just like Nickelback, “We all just want to be big rock stars … driving 15 cars … and have a bathroom I can play baseball in …” —

But every Caesar needs a right-hand-man and this time that is the Musk mel-man, delivering You’re Fired notices even moreso than his boss. Not content with growing a business empire, and zapping the world with his electric cars and the wealth gained, he now counsels, and indeed controls and commands — for now until the full political liability hits — the leader of the former free world.

However, each Caesar with a confidante has his Brutus, a killer deed that maybe done easier since Roman bars were open practically all day and night. (And do you really want to be ruled by a behemoth like a Nero or Caligula, even if a bit benevolent, if he turns drunk?) It turns out that our wanna-be-Caesar might have an Achilles Heel in the political liability coming in the form of that brazen one, the one who might as well be bearing bitter battery clamps to the nipples, from his cars.

That will shake up also the opposing battalions, even if they’re not Amazons, though ruler Trump has shown only lust not love for women.

Some may be a bit drawn to No. 1, despite the bad rug, but not No. 2, the big regulator. Even though the latter could take away his geeky and not with archvillain hype, looks-like-a-jaundiced Christopher Walken, and give it some stage presence. And also forgo the anti-glam of, I am Darryl, and this is my brother Darryl and my other brother Darryl. Less daunting.

The dough …

OK, so back to what it is from this man that has been received — and not via his being super-model material — other than pink slips, even if not at his auto company.

What has the richest man in the world done for charity?

It turns out quite a bit. But with caveats.

He just a few years ago, in 2021, gave $5.7 billion — yes the B word — to charities, granted most of them being ones that would also aid his causes, as in his company — through his Musk Foundation. (Although years for and aft not nearly as much money, but still in the Bs.) Most of this did not come from writing out a check, something he and his accountants might have learned from Trump that it can be quite precarious to do — or maybe not so much so — since Donald at times had scant little money to back it. But Musk as easily the world’s wealthiest car manufacturer did, though still preferring to dish out the dole via the form of things like stock shares, from things like his Tesla car company, or what amounted to as much, through his Musk Foundation. That foundation, despite its huge-scale philanthropy, has been at times chided for, get this, reportedly not reach the giving threshold set by the IRS.

(The foundation, begun in 2001, although not avoiding criticism, supports various causes such as renewable energy, space exploration, education, and the development of safe AI, and has made significant donations, of tens of millions, to groups like the St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital and the XPrize Foundation, supporting technological advancements including carbon renewal, as he has been a proponent of climate change as a long-term philanthrophy goal. It has also backed schools by supplying them with millions in equipment.)

There were other creative ways to go get the job done, and in some cases, even though he has been chided for simply being worldwide in the right place at the right time, with his electric car brand, these just showed him to be a good businessman. Like many voters regard HIS presidential boss to be — another reason to clump them together and term them Edonald — even though that opinion has been for years on the wane. The prime example that comes to mind with Elon Musk is building an entire large subdivision, and not cheap houses as this is far from HUD and The Projects, to be residences for large numbers of his Silicon Valley employees, such as in and around Brownsville, Texas, where SpaceX has a spaceport — although it’s not known if they were actual chip makers. There’s not many employers that can do that, a tribute to the success of Tesla, et al.

It is worthy of note that the year of $5 billion-plus giving came right at the time that Tesla really hit its stride with a financial foothold, both domestically and worldwide. In a few other years it was more like $2 billion. The nature of the charities does not exactly make him in the league of a Sam Walton, but hey, you still gotta give the guy credit. He’s giving back to at least some communities, something some of his ilk has been criticized for not doing. Because just like Nickelback, “We all just want to be big rock stars … driving 15 cars … and have a bathroom I can play baseball in …” Though Musk, as the nation’s and world’s leading geek, probably doesn’t have the needed coordination. But he has paid for lobster dinner, in lieu of, for many Wisconsin voters. Or at least that was the proposal.

(Buffett remains the most generous total donor, at a reported $62 billion all-time.)

However, there is the looming reminder of the sign outside the not nearly as lucrative St. Croix County Democratic Party headquarters, “Not paid for by Elon Musk. Not for sale.”

Burgers battles are bygone, except for the current one in Roberts. So now we go nachos. The Hudson Area Chamber of Commerce and Tourism Bureau currently is sponsoring a best nachos contest, with about a dozen entrants. The winning diner, and I thought I’d dine too and you’ll see that backstory in a minute, gets $50 in Chamber Bucks. Just go online to enter, making it a point to crunch and consider, than complete it by casting one vote only, that for your fave set of chips. Sample all you want first, but hurry, as the contest ends May 5.

So, good for me. I had avocados on the shelf in my fridge, and no Mexican-based food ideas for using them. They were sitting there reminding me of my last guacamole, eaten among other entrees at Easter brunch with tomatoes even mixed in, as these all are soon bound to go up in price.

My answer. I saw the sign. Advertising the contest. Hey, I could get some nachos, enter the contest, or better yet write about it, and chop up the avocados and mix in. And I thought for an example, I’d go to the deli/cafe nearest to me that is an entrant, Hudco To Go, then do a review.

The owner met me right away and said that when he heard about the contest, he thought about doing something different — offer some of their six-pepper-cheddar nachos at their regular rate of only $6, not the double digits you’d expect to see.

It turned out the nachos in their contender in the battala were good even before the avocado.

First, topping it off are liberal helpings of the six-pepper cheddar cheese from the DePere-based small business, FacePunch/That Girl Brie and Harmony Cheese, and theirs and other cheeses are also available for purchase onsite at the Locust Street deli, outside the scope of the contest, and on a counter are bottles of, again, six of Facepunch’s hot sauces if you wish, plus one more in-volume bottle too, as OK we heat it up just a bit, so hey I’m gonna punch your face, like Ted Nugent sings in Stranglehold. Thereby Hudco To Go goes to the other end of the state to get you an original product. There are dozens of other top-offs offered for sale on the next-down counter.

— May the Fourth be with you, two different signs say, and the double-digit-difference in high temperatures waxed and waned on that night and before, thus bringing volumes of people more and less, and party buses the same, to downtown Hudson. Even on that in-the-30s coldest night, a bus was pulled up alongside a spot on the sidewalk where I’d never seen one before. People gathered each other in a group, and a lone woman smoked a cig opposite them, perched on a park bench alongside the wall.

But on Friday night was a sight for sore eyes, a woman in the tiniest triangle bikini top I’d ever seen, not on the beach but in the middle of the downtown. I for a moment wondered that if she entered an older-person-attracting antique shop, and might turn off its main customer base, would she be frowned upon. At Dick’s was someone in a top not much bigger and a leather miniskirt much like that worn by the first two women, and I just had to tell her that I liked her throwback look, although in the 80s, unlike me already in my mid-20s, she had probably not yet been born. She smiled. “In the wink of a young girl’s eye, glory days.” It was one of several by chance, off the cuff brief conversations I had there that evening, all a breath of fresh air. —

Back at Hudco To Go, their nachos start with a burrito-based concept, the owners say, and use chips that are cheesy and slightly spicy, homemade ground-beef taco meat with a similar spice consistency, a salsa of chopped tomatoes of various sizes and chilis and onions of what looks to be more than one type, the shop’s own blend of spices, among other add-ins. The chips are toasted, which adds a bit of crisp to the edges.

The dish as a whole has a moderate heat level, which varies by the bite. Condiment packets of red hot tabasco sauce are available. There is also offered, to top off your nachos or other dish, a condiment bar with two groups of two hot peppers each, more tomato, lettuce, a different kind of onion (Bermuda), and a flavored relish with three kinds of vegetables.

The owners indicated that, as far as others in the contest, Dipsy Ice Cream stands out by mixing into their nachos, ice cream, of course.

And the main man at Hudco To Go, Ben Jung, is no stranger to such contests, or unusual orchestrations of them. He on a hunch entered one at Cracker Barrel Winery for BBQ and other such things, by dropping in his dish with bombay curry — and he took second place.

Then mid-day on May 18 there is a meaty pork butt contest for BBQ, arranged by Dick’s Bar and Grill, where Jung plans to produce sauerbraten, complete with ginger snacks and raisins and cooked overnight. The proceeds go to Gregory’s Gift of Hope Animal Shelter.

But for the nachos batalla, the other competitors are:

Bennett’s Chop & Railhouse – Hudson

Black Rooster Bistro

Bricks Neapolitan Pizza

Buffalo Wild Wings

Dick’s Bar and Grill

Dipsy Ice Cream Shoppe

Hudco To-Go LLC

Milwaukee Burger Company

Post – American Eatery

San Pedro Café.

San Pedro is officially the nachos contest restaurant sponsor.

— May Day. Bunnies, kittens and puppies. Exotic kinds of at least the first two can be found hawked in downtown Hudson on a storefront window or two, and if you aim for the third, it’s likely coming to a local venue soon. Hop(scotch)-eared bunnies are/were offered on the wall, even before Easter, and Himalayan kittens too. Ask the people at Mickelsen Drug and they may now dredge up the paper flyers from under the counter, for contact info. With May Day here, and with talk being heard about cougars soon being able to breed in parts not far from Hudson, cute kittens may also be born but then again may be a third strike if you actually want to own them. Especially as a Mother’s Day gift. It’s not legal mom. (But do you see that doggie in the window. All these cute critters have waggly tails, some bigger than others. Doggie gone.)

Would you spend a buck to save a quarter? Or get a nickel back?

If you are the government, pick a branch of it … no quarter. Just a twig. Even back in the day, not enough to go hear Dimebag, or thus indulge. But if you save up for the length it takes to produce several albums, you might be able to cop a Colt. But not go whole hog and get the whole horse. Dog and Pony show. After all, in a little known fact buried by politics, that pesky Farm Bill used to cost us more than all those welfare moms combined. Today’s ratio? Stay tuned … 

If the government truly wants to go after cutting wasteful spending, they could start with the fear of fraud with programs that benefit low-income and other disadvantaged people. These perceived potential dodgings and minor fluctuations in earnings, and in particular the money that is thrown at enforcing such alleged rule-breaking, should be Musk intent. Go after what really matters to peoples’ lives, such as those on the margin, and makes a difference, not political scapegoats and its created enemies. Since after all, your priorities are forged by who you help first. The last shall not be first, even eventually. Trickle down in its various political-football forms may have salvaged a drop, but not much more.

So here is a breakdown, given as one example of many we should truly fix. Might save enough to actually build a wall. All the way to Phoenix? More likely, DOGE = DOG. A demonic heavy metal band did much the same when flipping upper-case digits.

The people on the benefit programs are many, and adjustments made even after a lot of scrutiny for cutting are often barely in double-digit dollars. All this keeping of a labor force — hope manufacturing jobs come back as forecast, but you don’t have to be a weatherman to see which way the wind blows — in the name of actually saving the government money and reducing the budget and deficit and national debt.

When you are on a program such as Social Security Disability, lots of work hours — not to mention the reams of paper mailings this needs to generate — are spent tracking the scant income that such people manage. The rate of their benefit may then be adjusted slightly.

— Wages that are reported by beneficiaries of several programs will be cross-checked by computer against the wages employers report to the Department of Workforce Development to make sure they’ve not been crossed. Also asked may be the IRS, SSA, Unemployment Insurance Division and DOT. All that legwork to pay low-income people a handful of less bucks. —

However, I find it hard to believe that the few bucks that are saved justify the expense in labor and equipment and offices devoted to evaluate any changes in income. People in the programs and getting their benefits are not allowed to make more than $200 in employment income in a particular month without being penalized with a benefit reduction. Self-reporting is required following even certain minor changes, adding to paperwork, as their workers rank and sometimes adjust gross income, counted income and counted income limits, all the way down to the cent.

Say your ship comes in and you take in $210. After all is done being scrutinized, paperwork sent to recipients and then filled out and any kind of further review done, and more forms needing completion, the government, for its trouble, may end up getting back a few bucks off the overall benefit rate paid for a month or a few. (I’m no economist, but this overall amount of money saved by the taxpayer is probably less than for a quarter-pounder, (we’re not in the UK), and more like a few (French) fries or francs or a frankfurter.) Does anyone involved with this get franking privileges for postage? Even if they catch a few cheaters, they’d better get the most out of them possible with the fine of up to a quarter-million-dollars, but I doubt there is usually the full price and it might be tough to collect from poor people. Not everyone looked into is like Brett Favre.

If the feds are coming out in any way on their investment of labor, that must be a pretty damn low hourly rate. Minimum suddenly doesn’t look so bad. Wouldn’t it be easier and even cheaper to just let the poor guy keep his extra ten bucks and not have the government be able to recoup that, and not much more? And by the way, if one of the four or five main forms of benefits (described additionally below and largely tied to each other) goes up for a client, most of it is taken away from another category they receive. So the federal coffers end up getting a shitted nickel, after all the shit various people go through to get to that end.

On my end of things, there are three agencies for income reporting that can have overlapping duties, although they do take care of tasks in other areas. Some additional consolidation would seem in order. 

There exists the main federal Social Security Administration, a regional consortium that is (usually) your first point-of-contact for reporting, and the economic support department at the county human services level, to which you might get steered anyway.

— Now I do realize that there needs to be the threat of what is essentially a small-scale audit to keep people from taking unfair advantage. You could apply the same assessment scenario to the IRS or interstate weigh stations for trucks. But maybe make the worker time spent a quick whip-through of the information and less frequently done. —

The average time even spent on the phone with a representative taking what should be just basic information, even in an annual review required even if the agency finds there is no change in income, can take close to a half-hour.

It seems any time you call in to report something like that proverbial $210 or more, you also get sent a full self employment document of about three pages to write up. A complete breakdown of expenses and receipts is required. The rub: When received by the government, all this takes time to review and assess, and all the people regularly doing the reviewing need to be paid.

The main way the benefit-rate-change scenario plays out is with EBT food stamps, or with rent rates. Sometimes too Medicaid, which in some categories is used by around half of individuals, (and if you are in Wisconsin, BadgerCarePlus for medical), and I cannot vouch for daycare, but I can guess. After all that evaluation, they often only change the outlay a few dollars, often amounting to less than 10 percent of the total. I know someone who had all this mailing done back and forth for a change in food stamps, that total being in the $150-range, of about eight dollars.

Wages that are reported will be checked by computer against the wages your employer reports to the Department of Workforce Development. Also asked may be the IRS, SSA, Unemployment Insurance Division and DOT.

Now I do realize that there needs to be the threat of what is essentially a small-scale audit to keep people from taking unfair advantage. You could apply the same assessment scenario to the IRS or interstate weigh stations for trucks. But maybe make the processing worker time spent more of a quick whip-through of the information and less frequently done, say if that $210-income a month referenced above hits three straight times, just require a quarterly beneficiary call-in. This way the feds save too.

Protesters are not pining away about Pope Francis being buried in basically a small pine box to top off a low-key affair, led on-key by the 20-member Sistine Chapel Choir, so the pontiff’s passing backed by an orchestra, prior to interment in a simple plot with a one-word notation, “Francis,” in a cemetery not used since the 19th century. That’s six words less than the mere seven marked on the tombstone of singing legend Ronnie James Dio, who grew up Catholic and despite a small spate of differences with their personal theology, the short metalhead had inscribed a song title with which I’m sure the pope would like, not a tall order for these two men who both loved music (more on that below) including the operatic. Dio was Italian, and Francis of course lived for many years in Italy.

This is in very sharp contrast to the military parade that according to published reports is only rising in price, to glorify President Trump, not God by being his servant, on his 79th birthday June 14, and to cost more than a million for each one of his years, starting at $90-times-one-million, then going up to $93M, (like our local radio station 93X?) and now set at $100,000,000. The newly planted (I debated about using that word but His Holiness sure had a sense of humor) pope would surely roll over in his grave, although reportedly it appears that unlike entombed Beethoven — whom he enjoyed —  the pope has more than one coffin. Can’t confirm that though, since I didn’t get an invite to the funeral. I have met someone, in downtown Hudson, whose brother got invited to Dio’s back in 2010. Eulogies unveiled years later.

— So now we are a week later, and I get a free Catholic publication in the mail, of which I am familiar with their tight and early production schedule, and I had been wondering how they would deal with the pope’s death, as it happened just as they went to the printing press. It had an article quoting Francis a couple of days after he had been buried.

He must have a press secretary, for press releases, who is clairvoyant. Or he too was speaking from the grave, (like someone else whose death we recognized just over a week ago. But wait, He has since risen and is back, penning sermons, at his Old School typewriter no doubt, so scratch that.) One last joke, and am sure the pope and prince of peace won’t mind: For you Catholic geeks, you know the meaning of the much-talked-about speaking ex cathedra, a popely declaration made only under “grave” conditions of faith and morals — while on the Chair of Peter, so was that buried with him? — and pontiffs have only dared to use it twice, that’s about once a millennium, so this means they must be damn (sorry) sure of its viability. So if there ever was a time to go three, hey, if you can pull it off by speaking while entombed … There are death metal bands who would kill for that opp. The latest pope infallable in all but death? —

But these were humbler men, and in some ways simpler times than today’s slash and burn, although trial by cleansing fire is a frequent though ying/yang and (one of Dio’s songs) the heaven/hell theme. The two men adocated again, being humble not haughty, going beyond mere metaphor, but still found in their song and speech. The Trump tab, I’m sure not paid by him at least directly, does not even include many millions for added security, like the inauguration, and the proposal for a much similar parade about eight years ago that was cancelled in the long run. By contrast, no one is expected to shoot at the funeral procession of an already dead man, though one of God, so give them back their bullets, the theory of this all being that those 250,000 attendees had little to fear — unlike anything where a by-and-large unholy politician who is indeed a politician shows up, waving from a float (or larger than life tank or other carrier) rather than a balcony.

For the funeral for Francis, it was like getting into a trendy LA or NYC club, hard to do unless you are a dignitary. Everyone was supposed to be Men In Black, but Trump defied them with that dark navy same suit, blue on black. Jill Biden, back four rows, stole the show with her choice of attire, a not so little black dress that included spike heels. Melania Trump, also, done ditched the dress and came in an outfit with a double-breasted blazer prominent. She had left our native soil for the Vatican in flats, with hat added.

There was the presence of stardom too, if only through the power of the written note. It came in the form of Whoopi Goldberg, Patti Smith (who penned a poem for him referencing a lovely dandelion) and Gloria Estefan and other Latin artists, Jimmy Fallon who was criticized when having an actual audience with the pontiff, by making it too much about himself, (but hey aren’t you supposed to insert people’s stories and experiences such as even your own into homilies), and the list of musicians who had actually met Francis included those you might expect, plus a more wide-ranging in style group featuring the likes of Sting, Bono and even Katy Perry, known for racy outfits and lyrics but still widely regarded to be a Christian. (There was also the filmmaker documenting Christ in Martin Scoresese, he of intellectual roles Russell Crowe and lesser so Eva Longoria.)

Perry had recently gotten back from a spaceship where she flew above the earth with four other women luminaries, dubbed Blue Origin, gathered space dust and baked it into cookies, picked up and polished the orbiting space junk, ironed astronaut spacesuits, cleaned and fixed up everything that need be out there in space, and still had time to run various tests and pose together with a space selfie, (OK I made up all the tasks but the last part.) Some nerdy space scientists had originally planned to send the really cool Blue Man Group in their stead, but they … faded.

Perry generally is the author of a number redone by the choir at the St. Paul Cathedral during a recent concert. They had also been asked to be backup singers at her concert in the city. The conductor at the church was surprised to hear that Perry, by most sources, is considered Christian. By comparison, most everything at the funeral of Francis was Old School Classical, if that is a term, and is used as much as a requiem, although the pontiff reportedly also had an ear for Italian classical-pop. Performances for him at a Christmas concert in 2019 helped cross that musical bridge, from a Got Talent sensation, then Lionel Richie, Bonnie Tyler and Susan Boyle. The pope’s personal fave is not surprisingly Mozart, with a song that he says “lifts you to God,” and the rest of that storyline is also eclectic.

At the funeral itself, there were no rockers of record, and even the tributes have been slim. That is not unusual because though many secular musicians share the same ideals and even religion, they typically keep it to themselves except for well-chosen lines in their songs, or just short phrases sprinkled in, and even in interviews don’t like to be pigeonholed by their faith. (Although they are aware that they analyze that of public figures and philosophies, and recognize the irony.)

Dio, referenced earlier, is one of few who had occasionally spoken about it. On his tombstone, like the one word “Francis,” is just one phrase, “I’m The Man On The Silver Mountain.” This is from his early work with Rainbow, a song that refers to, I think, the men who were transfigured with Christ and did not want to leave and return to their earthly homes, but instead remain in joy on the sacred higher ground. Like a few other of Dio’s songs, he said, there is reference to a “Christ-like figure.”

You could do worse than to argue that Francis and Dio are both men on the silver mountain.

When you add to your Easter eating, and collect all the condiments, at all kinds of places like Cracker Barrel, it can be a chunk for charity. If only in my dreams.

In post-Easter slumber, and not the kind that comes after your big dinner, but after midnight following the Minnesota Wild first postseason game out in that other city that never sleeps, Las Vegas, I envisioned that those eateries were taking any of those little bags of ketchup and mustard and such that you could save and then donate, and give the savings to a cause. I may have been wrong, but in the dream we family-style restaurant hopped (I-Hop on Easter?) all around the southwest portion of Milwaukee, and I would stay well behind gathering up the lost under the table samples, in the name of cashing in and feeding the hungry. This put me in dream conflict, one by one, with just about every family member, mainly my nieces, envisioned front and center in front of me. The family dog even bolted across the front of the car hood — to gather scraps?

I did in my route around the restaurants encounter a group of tall kids fighting with a smaller one, and saved him from being beaten, or at least roasted with boasting. Like a small bunny surrounded by bigger rabbits.

— San Pedro in downtown Hudson has kept the spring-break-timed party going for most of this week with a special Caribbean-and-other-island themed observance, culminating Saturday afternoon with a steel drum band, The Pan Handlers. Do the drummers cook too, maybe with drumsticks? —

That could echo the meeting of the late Pope Francis, who unfortunately died Monday morning, with vice president JD Vance, who even though a Catholic must have felt like a witch at church when they met at The Vatican. (Since Vance’s boss, the president, has also come into conflict several times with the late pontiff over policy for the poor.) Apparently the pope couldn’t quite stomach the session. And after the smoke clears, literally, will the next pope even meet with the sinful likes of Vance? Or decline in advance.

Also back closer to home, a coffee maker has said they will have to hike the price for a 12-ounce bag by two bucks, citing the effects of Trump’s tariff policies. So if you needed some caffeine right before sunrise church service, or after the followup dinner …

Across the pond in Belgium, held was a hunt based not on beans but for bottles of beer, by hoards of this-time adults (we assume) and when taking into account differences in time zones, they should have been in church. A total of 10K of the bottles not cans were waiting to be discovered under bushes, in the forks or trees, or right out on the lawn. All this was big enough news to garner a half-minute on a station in Milwaukee.

In this time not an Easter hunt, but a bunch of children like small wooden bobbleheads who were displayed not on a playground, but in a makeshift courtroom in kiddie court for immigration, where they are being tried without adult legal representation even as young as three This was given to them so they could have something to play with, like maybe their parents with small wooden structures, while in actual proceedings were facing essentially, life without parole. A plan to produce another board-game-type playground, this time depicted them in a juvenile jail cell, was scuttled.