Bar talk can go beyond basic, and is not just about the Packers, or the crosstown Minneapolis-based Queens that are now Kings, where various people say there may be rioting in the streets tonight, and not because of a bad ref’s call. They pack in a fair amount of political commentary, even if it’s typically more like a monolog.

Usually there is one person at THAT table – this is seemingly the place in the bar where it usually transpires, like the many pollsters at your door being of just one persuasion – who is on a roll and won’t let up and just finish his beer. The rest listen, kinda with just one ear. Turns out they might need a third.

So, on these pages you are seeing a lot of niche political notations, slotted in because this is important. I will try to be balanced and not poke fun only at Trump, but he makes it so easy! And because this being at its start a music column, there’s a whole lotta lyrics fodder for such discourse, even if Disturbed, as in a killer band that foregoes the silence and sounds the alarm.

— Trump has repeatedly gone after Harris about her looks, and a rally speaker said she could be the anti-Christ. But wait, I don’t see any devil horns or multiple sixes floating around her head, (see below), which he says is dizzy. Maybe more plausible to call Trump a fascist. —

When the political ad calls come, the spammers spoof in spades, and even the legit (or something like that) ones follow suit. My mom was getting about two spam calls as such per hour on her old land line, and she knew who they were because those four red letters, “SPAM,” kept popping up before those obligatory 10 numerals on Old School caller ID, and not for voting at the polls. Or even on her TV screen, you know, up in the corner. All but one of the spammers took a Sunday off. Not so for fundraiser emails associated with my party of choice (guess which one, based on my writing.)

Do myself, my mom and my niece constitute a bloc of Milwaukee and rest of state voters, even if just a small one?

Better stay in tonight, I told them a few days ago, the eve of more possible death threat charges against Trump, as both candidates were in Milwaukee, Trump at a ritzy suite and Harris at a state fairgrounds. If both they and their posses come my way, tonight, I smirked, I will be reporting, as it is, from the somewhat safety of my apartment window. While on Second Street — which has become the new Eleventh Street Bridge over the freeway — a mere 100 feet from the county GOP Office, there had been debates over which party was performing their posts. One hint: The Dems sported a populist hay bale, I believe, and the GOP if not limos, horribly decked out with flags and such possibly redneck trucks. No big style points on either side, short of Beyonce.

Truth be told, there is no such thing as truth anymore. Trump might as well say, I’m going to blow up the moon, and then when asked how he would do it retort, “I have a concept of a plan.” (Maybe he just wants to just mobilize all that space junk, with the Jedi-like help of Elon, God forbid not Obie.) Just trust me, he says. Someone who tells lies by the hundreds. And his ilk say it is Harris who does not specify what she would do in office. To me, repeating endlessly that she would offer a $25,000 credit to first-time homeowners is a large part of the way there. It specifies both who and how much.

Trump promises the mass deportation of illegal immigrants, the biggest in history, but does not say where he will get all that money. And does he not understand that cheap immigrant labor is one of the backbones of our economy? (I will give him kudos for a proposal to make tips non-taxable, like anyone reports them anyway.) Does he not think that deporting them and restricting their entry will affect the rate of growth that he champions? And the double-whammy or triple-whammy of having the ability to pay for the very construction of that huge wall on the border? (A thought: How about if you have to build a wall, only put it at the areas where there is the biggest crossing crisis. Texas and Texans reign. Granted, many people will eventually catch on and try to cross elsewhere, but in the meantime you have reduced the rate of entry to an acceptable number to all but fervent fascists.)

And as far as Trump saying that in office, he would basically obliterate all his enemies and end his war of choice to specify at the moment, all in his first day. Hey, even God needed seven. Which war would he pick to end, first, On That Day? And I thought the military was going to be really busy hunting down all his political opponents. Maybe, like God, he should give himself a full week.

A mass deportation on Day One? But have to jail them first. The jails are already overcrowded and also the legal system overtaxed. A suggestion. House many of the bad guys at Mar-a-Lago, as there have been many visiting there for a time already, and have Trump oversee them with the fine-toothed comb like he’s used on his rug. And he has criticized Kamala’s looks! She has been said to really rock the look, even moreso, back in the day. She would fit in well on a California beach.

This is not so well. “I got along with Putin,” Trump ranted. Why would someone say that? It’s almost like highlighting, yeah me and Hitler. We’re buds.

Trump should edit his remarks and not shoot off the cuff, and possibly sleep on it first before he airs them, as to not put his foot in it yet again, feet first. Would that mean less hourly spam calls to my mom’s land line …

Back to the hanging of Harris, would you do anything differently than Joe Biden, an interviewer asked her in a way that seemed to be impromptu. “There’s not a thing that comes to mind” she responded. But just maybe upon further reflection … A mere eight word clip, not given with context.

Wait, there are also third party candidates to poke fun at. Not long after there was the IVF debacle, there was the battle to WIN the ballot and then NIX it for RFK. I’d heard it all, a candidate will SUE for the right to get back OFF the ballot. Sweating it out while seated ahead of the camera like Rich (Nixon) or Rudy (Guiliani.)

Much like the former unceremonious ouster of Mitch, the speaker, of the House, and not of Usher, as we harken back to Halloween.

Does Tammy Baldwin versus Eric Hovde, a key Wisconsin election race, come down — just as much as abortion rights — to a bag of potato chips or two? Or as I’ll deal with later, an old MTV clip. As the epic “One,” the peerless one and only from Metallica, was the main one that got MTV’s groundbreaking music videos going.

Eaten in a nursing home, feeling chippy rather than chipper, when restricted to a bunch of mush — like my dear friend I have referenced, who is going in to cure her colon, and now has conditions — or maybe mashed potatoes, as we are in the spud state? Even with chips, it all comes down to small potatoes. But this election is anything but …

Baldwin is as Badger Blue as they come — and Harris is back in Madison in the ultimate party zone, you know, the good party, and the southeast part of the state that brought us the ever-popular-there Steve Miller and his band, recently honored in his hometown for longtime achievement. And as has been pointed out blatantly, Hovde is or has been from California and has a mansion there, as well as in Florida, maybe not many miles from Mara-Lago.

The distinction painted is rich vs. liberal. Again we see this theme.

(So, on these pages in the next days you will see a lot of political notations, slotted in because this is important. And because this being at its start a music column, there’s a whole lotta lyrics fodder.)

But back to those chips. In video clips.

Hovde was attacked in full force by Baldwin, and He and His shot back with a recent ad saying that Baldwin was living High off the Hog with her Wall Street girlfriend. The person(s) in the video clip rang out back and forth between Baldwin and her beau, and a female narrator, switching at will. One of the last images shown was of a grocery bag filled high, and at its overflowing top some potato chips, a WalMart signature brand.

It isn’t immediately clear, unless you are watching, who bought these groceries, but on further inspection, it’s the narrator. I thought the splicing to and fro was confusing, and in that way like an old MTV video. The implication was that because of Baldwin, this poor woman was having to buy WalMart brand food. At first glance, I thought it was Baldwin buying Great Value, and I further thought if that’s defined as living high off the hog, so be it. And if such needs to be done by a constituent, too, that’s not so bad. At least the two bags shown are full.

Ads for Hovde have criticized Baldwin for her voting on Fentanyl bans, probably because there was a troublesome rider attached, since she is the one who helped sponsor a bill going after dealers of the drug. (Hovde managed to find one mother whose child had died of an overdose, and only gotten a letter of remorse from Baldwin, and nothing more. All the candidates, on both sides, seem to be great at finding lone wolves, as my family has pointed out.)

It is worthy of note that out in California, Harris had actually gone after drug kingpins and reduced crime, despite Republican claims. You can’t just hold people who are arrested, until you bring sufficient evidence against them, (and there aren’t nearly enough investigators in California to make that quickly doable.) No matter how severe their alleged crimes, violent or not. That’s what Guantanamo Bay is about. So again, we can solve it with more feet on the floor. Even if they are just Legal Beagles. You get what you pay for. Or if taken conversely, don’t pay for.

I think Baldwin and the Democrats are missing an opportunity in their stance on abortion, but that may be by direct choice. I thought that when the court decisions started mounting, and the Republicans became more and more hard line, the Democratic response would be to take a more centrist position and appeal all at once to the vast majority of Americans, not distance themselves as best they could, as far distant as they could.

It is has gone largely unnoticed that even under Biden/Harris current policy, you cannot get an abortion under all but the most extreme medical circumstances after six months, presumably to give a woman ample time to determine that yes, she is pregnant. And they have not done a good job at all to make that distinction known.

I will now reference an earlier ad by Baldwin that shows that even Democrats can resort to tactics that could be seen as vile. It said that Hovde did not want older Americans to be able to vote. What Hovde actually said was that, factually to a large degree, nursing home residents generally don’t live very long — although a half-year is probably a low-ball — so it’s unlikely most of them can find a way to vote.

The fact-back, as confirmed by a couple of volunteers with the League Of Women Voters locally, is that there often are means availed for nursing home residents to be able to cast a ballot, even including polling at their living facilities.

My take on the upshot: Baldwin took liberties with what she had suggested early, but Hovde was wink-and-nod trying to discourage the elderly from voting because they would not be in favor of his policies.

As long as we are on the past …

I was a reporter for the Hudson Star-Observer when Bill Clinton had gotten caught getting laid with Monica Lewinski, then denied it, before eventually fessing up. He was scheduled to address the issue to the American people for the first time, and I decided as an entertainment reporter to take in the common man angle. I went over to what was then Pudge’s Bar, had a seat at the rail, and waited to see what I’d find.

Next to me was a man from all places, Australia. He was working by day for a few weeks with his company to fix the Interstate 94 bridge. But this was evening, so the Aussie thought he’d go quaff an ale.

He was aghast about what transpired on the TV, for a reason you might not expect …

He talked freely during a rather long speech by Clinton, saying that in his home country, if the prime minister had an affair, no one would too much care, but if he lied about doing it, his political career would be toast.

History would not look on him kindly if like Donald, he had his Stormy Daniels. Non-consensual would be even worse for the PM.

But back to those bad photos on political ads:

One banking against border czar Harris does not show her as much of a czar at all, aiming to show that her vice-presidency was costing the average American lots of money out of their wallet. One was shown folded open with no dollar bills, not even ones or fives. But wait a minute, on money: There is a great big fold running down the middle, and three more to hold credit cards, and they all looked like … great big ol’ dollar bills! (At least the main one.) And even if they are indeed credit cards, they provide purchasing power, even if draining your own personal finances held, like the Republicans claim the presidential Democratic administration has done.

Even if some of the claims against Baldwin — saying her spending plans are too extreme, although even like with Trump (and yes I said this) they’d help certain segments of the population and may be good ideas in principle — have a grain of truth, they would not aid a large enough number of people to cost a lot of money to the taxpayer. And by comparison, if all of those who regularly eat out would simply skip a steak or two a month—even if it’s simply sirloin vs. pricey porterhouse — and instead donate that money, it would largely end hunger across the country.

And if that is a concern, what is spent at the grocery store and at the pump, what about this about grain? Funding to Ukraine has been blocked or ended, and this and the parts of Russia impacted too by the war mean that the price of wheat is affected. Hey, that’s where we get bread and ethanol. Yes, that more affordable fuel.

Back to bad choices

A second such ad, for Alison Page and her stance favoring abortion rights, says there are some things as out of place as politicians in your doctor’s office — and it shows three elephants, presumably a mom and dad and baby, out in a clipped green pasture in front of a big ol’ red barn.

It has been a while since the signs trumping Trump were small – you know, common man Democrat not Donald size – like the one or two initially, that I saw basically lost in the middle of a field of cedar shrubs of forest-like proportions.

One of the Dem signs I could not ignore: Vote for Democrats. They vote for us (or US?) If they can arrange a way to semi-accurately impersonate you.

Trump has said he has an IQ of 156, but will not take a test to test out his claim. Now it’s been updated, reportedly, that his IQ is really a (limited) bit little than less than “half” that high. That’s not unlike like having played out your deck of cards only until the whistled two minute warning, and the one at the end of the “half” not the end of the game, and trying to hit the sidelines, (read unregistered voters.)

Which concerning all things happening electorally these days, brings up this point: Should people have to have an IQ of a certain level to vote or be voted for? So we don’t dumb down the electoral process, although IQ granted is not the only measure of intelligence. But after all, such a requirement might create a one-party system. Ha, ha. Mandate the means to legislate. Don’t get me wrong, all types of people should have the right to vote, even if you’ve only been (legally) in the USA country for say a decade, and that’s Trump timing, the time he has been around the political scene.

— Of course we know the electoral college consists of our great-great-great-great grandparents or beyond, “voting” for such back in a day when I think they only had muskets for firearms, and they might not even take out a deer with a direct hit. Bambi would limp around for days without actually croaking like a frog, and you would not be able to harvest the meat because you lost track of her, so go hit up the Indians for turkey. My take on the origins of this country. —

But if you’re not scratching triple digits, IQ again invoked, maybe have the vote be weighed on a sliding scale? This would be a way to avoid the tyranny of the majority, as so many of us have seen what happens when there is a (mostly locally) committee of mere commoners overseeing a body of experts, plundering their more astute jurisdiction and throwing it asunder. The local parks committee may take a great (locally based) additive plan and throw it all to hell — term chosen these days — and maybe based on an agenda for vendetta that may include the personal, screw it, and I have seen this covering area town board meetings. (Or on the dangers of using what is strictly popular, bowing only to what you hear on radio during the populist drive-by popular tunes, not the intellectual value of what’s heard at say, 4 a.m. only.) It might be Megadeth and Holy Wars, in which the would-be pundits ID themselves as such, mockingly, as seeming know-it-alls and despite that travel to foreign lands to “ask the sheep about their beliefs.” I would change the word to quiz, and I think it may be such in some song versions.

Although this is all micro-Musk, in many ways. The quandary of weighing by committee who has what astuteness, and these days I’d at times take the immigrants as far as civics knowledge, would create a whole another bureaucracy, and that’s what the embattled Republicans hate, and beyond doubt the ensuing battle to fund it! (Although there is the border battle — minus beer — boldly brewing in bureaucracy that may be created, and we are not talking WI-MN — more liberal with their taxpayer checkbooks — although Iowa recently weighed in presidentially as far as polls.)

Don’t know the (major) difference between Andrew Johson and Harry Truman? Then ballot tossed out? At what point do you cut off the level of knowledge, including the presidential, if you turn someone away at the polls, possibly bringing more lawsuits by non-populist suits with their ties, much less assorted or orchestrated assaults.

Hell, some of the newfound voters who get only what they know from their personally chosen (like Fox versus CNN) social media and its disinformation don’t even know who Ronald Reagen is and what he stood for, (as is actually most of the populace.)

Would the local very Common Council have to decide how to score two-thirds against three-fourths, on a sliding vote scale? (I ‘ve always wondered about the slim difference, in again, popular rhetoric.) Bring that new bureaucracy to a higher — or lower — level.

Trump has claimed, often, that Harris has a very low IQ. One headline cites it as 110. But if you look at the story, and earlier in this story, that is the lower end of only 1,341-or-so people who thus “voted” and were asked to make a guess (party lines invoked?) Trump himself has been said to be at anywhere between 101 and 145. He guestimates, without offering any justification, that he ranks at 156.

To be presidential, you have to have at least some smarts, as how you respond to your handlers, and even ability to speak well off the cuff will only get you so far. Ulysses S. Grant and Andrew Jackson both are ranked at 110, and the numbers raise fairly quickly from there. So Trump’s claims especially seem unlikely.

I think the IQ of Harris is more like that of someone else by that surname, Steve, the lyricist and bassist of Iron Maiden, which a recent scientifically quantified study found to be one of the most intelligent bands of all, and metal was the most intelligent genre.

Methinks the electoral college was established by some university, (not college), profs who needed something new to study, so they created the topic. On the often questioned, continued validity of that college itself, mom says, “different time, different place.” (Of course we know the electoral college consists of our great-great-great-great grandparents or beyond, “voting” for such back in a day when I think they only had muskets for firearms, and they might not even take out a deer with a direct hit. Bambi would limp around for days without actually croaking like a frog, and you would not be able to harvest the meat because you lost track of her, so go hit up the Indians for turkey. My take on the origins of this country, where the powers-that-be simply and that word is chosen intentionally, were looking out for the common man — not women yet — in an attempt to even-out the power of big vs. little states. So we grant muster to the likes of California and Texas?) Or how about this, back to the basic knowledge of civics as a qualification for voting: How many people on the street, if you stopped them and I was encouraged not to as they might have a musket or more, could tell you the three branches of government? (Just for the record, info-providing-wise, executive (the extreme main one these days), legislative (weakening), and judicial (on the rise.) I’ll bet the vast majority of those officially declared qualified to cast a ballot could not answer correctly.

So we have so many people backing Trump, saying he is his own man and admiring him for that. But so many stars in their own right, men and women, millionaires all but not by Elon Musk standards, have come forward backing Kamala Harris with even their country content — but no Cash — as the Trump mash-up including Musk remarks becomes more graphic than even Cradle of Filth lyrics, and lots even longer in the (lopsided) tooth.

But being such an outsider does still require some modicum of skill. That’s where I draw a line in the sand when invoking, also, my and their rock star heroes. As Ozzy, even eventually, and Lemmy were able to pen intelligent lyrics and commentary on the current world and political landscape – although I’ll give you that The Ozz Man struggles mightily when composing an interview sentence. (Much more on their fastidious fortitude, functionally specific, for as it is, in a later post.)

— This is a fifth, as in a drink, that’s worthy of buying the previou four. Come High Noon. Or more specifically starting at 11 a.m. on football Sunday Game Day. Going through 11 p.m. It’s at the Smilin’ Moose where you buy four High Noons and get a fifth for free, all for just … $27.50. That ol’ 50 cents. This is a combo of vodka and soda, in various fruity flavors, (I tried one for the first time back at home in Milwaukee), and the photo of the bucket on the marquee shows Summer Sips. Would that make you an Arizona fan? Referencing the marquee was a young woman wearing a QB like cast on her leg, if hit low. Had she been on IR from the bar? —

Meandering for a bit, one does almost feel sorry for Trump and what he has become, and by no means a rock star as if for nothing else, he does not have the hair. But if his IQ truly is around 89, or 98 — he says 156 — I’ll give him credit for being able to make it in the business world, sorta, anyway, even if needing to be bailed out, over and above at the ballot box turnstyles, at most turns, and then being a cheap-turn reality show star. That IQ reading seems too low to have any merit, so one wonders if it is a deep fake. Like one I saw of Melania purportedly jumping in front of her husband and saying she is done with him to a RNC crowd because of affairs and whatnot, and tossing her wedding ring into one of the front rows, like a rock concert frisbee. Or was this post a matter of massive editing, in or out with content. And it’s gotten far worse with the deep fakes, on both sides, many from Russia and its regard, since that was exposed. And many attempt to undermine valid voting, and not from Trump.

One’s mind boggles. Would the most recently attemptedly orchestrated and apparently botched as A-47 incident be blown out of proportion to include allegations that it involved also shooting up his now dead body, Liz Cheney and also fame-media hack potshots aside, in a matter of overkill not (officially) penned by Lemmy and Motorhead, and taking out a whale or two for good measure?

On other vows, Rock the Casbah and we Clash, what about the one where Trump was said to have promised oil sheiks $18 billion for favors? And very much also for elbow grease? That could be parlayed into a lot of savings at the pump – and become more of an election issue — though not much for the pocketbooks of those rich men, as they are used to bribes of much more.

This one, unfortunately, is not nearly so fake, like such a handoff. QB Favre had chastised Swiftie singer Taylor about taking recent political stances, where all-the-while he has done the same style, as sung, saying essentially that this is quite unbecoming for a pop star. This in the land where — and just who can you trust? — there are sign stealers across all starboards and game boards. Inside sometimes otherwise empty helmets.

And whose IQ and PQ are you going to trust more anyway? Yes, quarterbacks have to read defenses like politicians read voters, and come up with playbooks and platforms, and they have to be able to read the crowded defenses like you would a crowd that is suddenly on your back moreso than that of a bad comic, and memorize lots of plays and positions, but …

I myself would take a lyricist first, who pens poetic and has to make it more believable than those backing the tack of a particular political hack. Listen to Springsteen and to my bro, he’s actually quite astute, thus Born In The USA stupid — and hey even mom is conversant about him and I don’t have to drag her in too much — and then also Eminem for intellect? And Swift, although I have teased her, is said to have an IQ of 160 — very much pretty damn good and not just pretty lipstick — and that by the way beats even the best proclaimed by Trump by four points or at least pretty close to fourfold, so be careful who you tout. Maybe Favre should stick to allegedly siphoning stamps, where I believe there is a 200 limit. Maybe less in Mississippi.

And the beau of Taylor, not Trump like you might expect, is expected to have made her expecting, so if you double that in the offspring, by a factor of two since there are a pair of parents, you can concoct an IQ of 320 when adding an apparently smart football tighter end (and brain?) than even Swift. That’s like Einstein dissecting a Cover Two.

And Brittany Kelce, of the coming-in-law clan of Taylor, has also entered into the public political fray with her own, fractured like a knee, viewpoint. Would you like to be a fly on the wall, or at least the dated cranberry sauce, at Thanksgiving dinner? Looks like we yet will not, for sure, know a winner who takes all, at that point. And wanna party with not Perry but Musk while chomping on hoidy toidy turkey and sipping fine champagne? Get in line as his dance card is full. But you are not going to mistake this man, that being Musk, for Bill Gates as he seems to have the intellect of only an Average Joe. So how did this guy make so much money? I first associated his name with high end perfume, you know Musk, but if it smells like a fish, or a rat … It has been suggested we shoot him to the moon, along with Trump, via his company.

Most of us thinking and listening people have at this point heard the described-as-awful, Trump rally joke that Puerto Rico is “a floating sea of garbage.”
A gag worth of political discourse, or even comedy?
I guess it depends who is listening. Or how it is told?
What if this attempt at humor came without the expense of, and sparing, a double-edge? So instead, double your funky fun. What if say, there was given the addition of a slight-of-hand, if there existed a Puerto Rican semi-slang term for stuff drifting up unto shore. Incorporate it and thus double the now non-gaff.
As mom said, twice, while watching TV with me, its all in the presentation.

— With that I present a take on early Hallows Eve. Sports bar hosts had on the same bad costumes, with the best a take on Beetlejuice, though badly misspelled. Serving was a deer huntress, not hunter, to those sitting next to a skull that was jet black, in a new look.

The weather was wet and a bit snowy, but nothing like 35 years ago when I first came to Hudson and Halloween spirits were greeted with a mean-spirited two feet of snow. Still, this spurred a thought that these days, various city officials and such could look at the weather charts to see if it was safe outside, for both the predictions for All Hallows Eve itself and the Sunday before, then make a decision on when to allow trick or treating. Or maybe hold a November referendum on that choice between the two days, for the next October 31, with no write-ins allowed.

Up the road at the Third Street Historical District, annually the biggest and best place for trick or treating, at 7:25 p.m. there was no one to be seen at its entry with Vine Street, maybe because that was a corner with a church, the conservative kind.

Back to the bar scene, that night. I told the three behind the long rail at Hudson Tap, that with their ears they collectively looked like Bad Bunny. I was corrected, Care Bears. One T-shirt said the stoner type, another huggy bear … OK, I’m kidding. Aaron Rodgers starred on Thursday Night Football, emerging from the darkness of this night. And on the way back home, I was flanked by no one in costume but one in a halter top despite the cold, walking all the way across town.

Over at Collective Soul, actually rather the Awakened Soul, they were having funky metaphysical stuff going on during many a Thursday in October, so Halloween was timed just right. —

To this joke, back to the bad political one, I make a comparison that might be made via music. What if the joke were told in the contest of, say, lyrics about the environment by the old metal band Flotsam and Jetsom, which for the unannounced has only at its start the description of a certain specific type of junk floating in the sea, as in from old shipwrecks. And that’s only quantifying the first word of the phrase. (Jetsom takes to the air?) Wikipedia has, at least or now, a more complete description of the meaning of the term that goes on for pages. Rise up the intellectual level?
Would that make the joke a quip, and even a bit more tasteful to the palette?
I will now make a comparison to something I actually wrote a few months ago, for a twist. After all, we as content creators must take responsibility for what we put out there. And in some forms of the internet, you can go back in, return to the remarks, and edit and re-edit, as I did in this case. Again, this tried to make the gag two-fold, not a one-trick pony, and even if by example, turn it into a bass ackwards “this is not the way to do it” about racial relations.
The following twist of (bad) language, while slurring, I must note not just a quip but part of an about 1,000 word joke — and hopefully that many points of light — and was a commentary about VP Vance and his rant against current VP Kamala Harris being a cat-lady. And Black. At a convention of journalists, of all the ill-astute places.
“Wait, isn’t having a whole bunch of children, if a “Welfare Queen,” what the Republicans used to be all about rallying against. Which is it? And now on stage with a bunch of convention reporters, so more mics on, for the likes of …
“Ya’ll best know what that thar community you be, in the ‘hood.” OK and yes, I seriously doubt that most Black people, or even rednecks, really talk like that. But we’re right now in Archie Bunker Land Speak and see my end to this post, as its setting cities are much similar to the above. After all, this post is about massively over-generalizing.”
What ya’ll think? But to what I think. The Republicans did politics as usual (non-Walz I might add, as he is more likely to own up to his mistakes) and then said didn’t vett the comedian they asked on board, hadn’t heard it and won’t comment on the slur, but then did comment, saying we should not have such a thin skin these days. I’ll agree with him on that much, and on our culture of entitlement. But tell that to hundreds of thousands of voters in Pennsylvania. Bottom line: If the joke requires little forethought or intellect, then its too easy and just not funny. But in no case can such a gag be justified in the mind of a good friend, who has little tolerance for any kind of bad language or humor. She pointed out something I had not known, which she is good at: This was the 85th anniversary, to the day, of that infamous Nazi rally in the same place, Madison Square Garden. In the heart of Blue country.

A bouquet of (white and otherwise bright) flowers on Halloween? Crap creeping up outside an outhouse, not in. Read all about it.

Halloween can be a mixed bag. Just see these next two paragraphs, as the situation is shown in two different ways. (Just like you can trick or treat on two different nights.) OK, and maybe the third graph, too. Boo.

My mom got a swath of sympathy flowers, for a death just prior to Halloween, and with nowhere else it place it, the bunch was placed right in front of one of her few pieces of decore for such a holiday, one that said BOO! Letters flanked in orange. And ghost tacked onto the end.

A black past, back to the scary future. I spied an outhouse with a line of pumpkins parallel to its front. This makes it easier to put some of the (flaming) crap literally, in a bag along with the guts of a carved out pumpkin and put it on the nearest (farmer’s?) doorstep.

(Nessie, as in the Loch Ness Monster, is again in the news. Freshly. Like Nestle on trick or treat night?)

Going closer to urban, on the way to my brother’s big house in a big subdivision, I saw on virtually every lamp post, and each house had one, a similar style of great pumpkin. Dozens and dozens of them. Does Linus, now elderly, live here? Or in that one place miles away that replicated this?

There are many houses decked out in large and small degree with Halloween decorations, but few in at I would call it at 60 percent clip. Seventy percent with lawn clippings included and fashioned in. As noted earlier, much earlier, inflatables are all the rage for big monsters, but even big monsters can deflate and lie flat in the yard. Boo if they’re more than dozen of them.

That even earlier rager, the skeleton of more than a dozen feet tall, has or had a preview of lying flat in disintegration. At its big feet was a smaller and obviously dethroned skeleton.  

While afoot at the home: Mom looked downward, where I had earlier broke my big toe and asked not which digit, but which foot? She specifically configured it about my fat toe. This reminded me, and I reminded her, about a quaint old Halloween record we listened to as young kids with the tag line, “that’s my skinny toe!” She didn’t quite remember. Maybe a good thing.

An even better thing, for this time, I think. Bodies or their pieces or just their hands have been seen sticking out, in solitary fashion, of the crabgrass, as that’s all that still grows this time of year, of various lawns.

At Mallory’s, on a crawl a short distance away from my apartment, I saw just inside its door an apparently dead bride and groom, in dress and tux, lying flat as in a coffin. One half of the story sung by Axl Rose in November Rain? Reminds me of a likewise very cryptically similar dream I had of an actual wedding that is acoming, since someone close who is very ill may be unable to attend. This one is no joke.

Halloween can be serious. Even if just in business, and in souls. Or both. My publisher at the Irish Gazette planned a big edition for October, since the Celts are big into the hallowed day when the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest, but there were production problems. So see them in print just prior to another big one, Christmas.

Until then, happy holiday of Halloween. Joe.

One venue calls themselves and not just their endeavor the Halloween creepy crawl, and there are a proliferation of such prominent but prickly predicaments, in events or decorations, all over hill and dale. Sorry to say none include Creeping Death by Metallica, as this is not a recent political rally with growing star power.

A snapshot follows of the spooky and scary locally, and the imagery even delves into the realm as political as a truly scary Kamala Harris witch’s outfit.

The suddenly spooky flags that fly, or hug the ground, forever? They lie on a nearby lawn of a business, orange most all of them, by the hundreds. Also a few other odd colors, mixed with a bit of black, since what these really are bears a theme of massive construction, rather than destruction, in the form of utility markers the size of a black cat’s face. They just might be for digging for what (tricks or treats are found) underneath! About every foot of the small yard has at least one of them, as they spread like tiny craggily fingers.

— Another event you might enjoy is the World Series, which starts this weekend. But my cabbie friend will not make to road trip, this time, since it does not involve his beloved Oakland As — and he has been following them since they’ve known by this name and also others, so that’s a long time — who in a related matter have played their last game at the longtime stadium to which he’s gone cross-country. Maybe since Abacab. And now the driver baseball buff doesn’t even have the option of going to see that song played at a Phil Collins concert, since the artist is ailing.

The cabbie says he enjoys his occasional conversations with me, so I put the question to him: How would you fare if stuck with me sitting next to you all the way Going To California? Then maybe seated next to you, again, at the ballpark. He must not have minded the idea too much, since he didn’t really answer, just told me he lamented that his As days were done. —

They are not unlike those drapes of awnings seen at so many another place or patio, they music venues all, for the season now drooping down and bearing the image of ghosts as they cling to the poles heading north and southward, up to heaven and down to hell. 

Green Mill simply masters the use of spiders, via one of its go-getter worker bees, who got up on a ladder early-on in this holiday season and would not let-up. She got going with one solid stretch of thick black string, or call it rope, then adding up to a third, then a fifth … They strung all around so much you could not get over to the bathroom without brushing them along your brow. (I don’t want to be an HR head haughtily hired to head off the possible worker’s comp claim. If you reach those last few inches up to the decked out ceiling by the entrance booth. A co-worker who was watching nodded in agreement, then smirked again.)

Back to Saturday and such

In an otherwise dearth of the fearless, dreaded but deadly drone of the Halloween costume dregs, Dick’s Bar stood out in the last (main) weekend before Halloween, with the headgear of green devil horns and lengthy and horny Scroogelike noses, sometimes in combination. Combine that was an Abba dress-up party, with even more members than the original group, and you have … a party.

In a zig and zag down the street, around 8 p.m. in the next night, right before Monday, remnants of roadies pulled speakers up and down the parking lot at Hop N Barrel, parallel to the street, while a starting-as soloist guitarist shredded it. Welcome sight and sound, and not necessarily creepy.

Can you party, before this new year and even Halloween begin — the millennium is still here — like it’s 1920? And not at Hudson and Wisconsin’s oldest bar, like one of those referenced above, but down a couple of blocks further in an event held under and in the bluffline caves next to the Casanova Historic Liquor’s. Just before their adjacent venue, the Nova bar, wraps up its live music for the year.

On the other side, it will be called their speakeasy, and again not the one in lower-level Mallory’s, so kick your heels up and knock your drinks down, on Sept. 25, another party on that evening.

The music is by a band that may have name(s) you will recognize, perfect for these holidays, Deb O’Keefe and the Funk Zombies. Be there from 7-11 p.m. Dying off before the witching hour of midnight.

The song, and the parties, remain the same, when you dress up for Halloween costume contest parties. The night of choice is Oct. 26th, for most all, because it is the Saturday night all right before Halloween, which is on a Thursday.

But here is a kinder, gentler choice. What, at the Wild Badger in New Richmond? On Halloween itself. With a movie, and not a one about Naria and it’s minions like promoted by churches this time of year at their makeshift events that pledge to battle “evil,” that is Nightmare Before Christmas, from 4-7 p.m. And there will be candy and popcorn, like any good Halloween movie. It will even be outside on the patio, so unless there beckons another holiday blizzard, Tim Burton will be present, sorta.

DJ BDay, his stage name, over a year ago became the almost daily deejay at the Wild Badger in New Richmond, and elsewhere, pushing other entertainers of karaoke and more to the background with his huge selection that features dozens of songs from most relevant artists, across genres.

And on the rare occasion that he doesn’t possess a song, he’ll make sure he goes out and gets it for you. His treat, in this season, and he knows the tricks. So it doesn’t even have to be your birthday.

— It is that time, and maybe it’s before time began, that people are getting out their Halloween party publicity in a way that’s not the usual last minute before the veil is thinnest.

First out, and been there for a bit, is a one that’s vague partially due to its earliness. The bartender at Hudson Tap said so. On the front door, just past the enclave the size of a large coffin with a few extra cogs, is a pitch for official-photo-filled Halloween bar crawl on the 26th, which becomes the official day of said holiday, but is added to both have “six-plus venues” at the same time as being national.

Also recently added, via marquee, at the king (and moreso queen) of local Halloween costume contest parties the Smilin’ Moose, is the big-scale notation that on that one night only, this year, are a full $1K-plus in prizes.

The night before, on the 25th, starting early in the lunch hour and going through, as fitting an also rockin’ senior center, there is a twist of the Halloween food and other offerings theme at the Roberts Park Building, the Monster Mash Bingo Bash with mashed-in masks shown and (mongo-ish and sweet?) chili, too, not just candy, although I Love Candy. —

First thing, back beyond to BDay. He’s Got The Look, with body jewelry, and his look alike logo, and as rock star preparation has also been in a band, as I give background, thus as an opening act of sorts here I careen like many of the long guitar solos DJ BDay is kind enough to tolerate, for my benefit. I have had the pleasure of belting out dozens of different numbers into his mic, from a specialized genre. 

But second, he goes where few seek to go as far as karaoke deejays, and will volunteer, or even ‘peat and repeat, that if you ask for a song and DJ BDay does not have it in his very vast repertoire, (examples of that in a bit), he’ll willingly venture from his office and buy that particular single, or maybe even album side, for you to sample out the next time in. That means the history of rock n roll, and country and pop too, is at your fingertips. DJ BDay banters from stage that his song playbook is as thick or thicker as the yellow pages, (unless maybe you live in a place as big as NYC), since he is the seminal as Sabbath act for this, and is not reliant on pulling what he can off the internet, which can be fickle in the wicked windy weather of a Wisconsin winter, and with many DJs a particular song can be simply left out in the cold for plenty of time. No such lapse here.

— And just what is here? You can see and sing with him every Thursday night beginning at 9 p.m. for starters, at the Wild Badger in New Richmond, where he’s a DJ standard bearer and has also been a long time music bingo and trivia host beforehand on those nights and also often in the previous evening. The questions feature a following time buildup, his signature, before naming the answer that brings forth the beauty of a countdown, complete with quips. The final countdown yields prizes. —

I myself, in many months of singing regularly with him, while he burst onto the scene, so can come highly recommended, have virtually never seen him have a system go down.

Even if something is sucking the power like Slayer and Seasons In The Abyss, and yes he has that song.

DJ BDay is someone who says to me and family on the sly, during a power(ful) intro, “you are the only person I know who has the guts to sing Iron Maiden.” Although he’s now been around long enough to hear a few others doing that artist. Flight of Icarus? He has it. Hallowed be thy Name? Of course. And if you need a little liquid courage, he has available Priest’s Painkiller, to boot.

So you can see there is a song list that has grown into tens of thousands.

And DJ BDay will nod in appreciation at all the right times.

He also spins lots of country, and pop and all the classics, not just the obscure, and even delves into soul as a specialty and hip-hop, with on-screen visuals built to match the vast selection. Groupings of about a dozen clips (one new version is Halloween themed) have been spliced together, coherently, to form a signature-style, high-light real of what he has to offer. They can also be built along other themes, such as dance moves, and in that one just how does she spin into her male lead’s arms in those high heels?

There was some such footwear afoot the other night, as a large group of party people packed the house, singing songs that are classics but largely not those you’ll find overplayed. Code name in the title of one of them, a bit poppy, goes by Valerie, and various of these got a very loud and appreciative response. So bring in your own group and sing.

DJ BDay will also take his turn on the mic, if you request him to do so. Besides the standards, his frequently entertaining number that’s a specialty is a Weird Al Yankovic take on that prerequisite Carrie Underwood-style break-up song. A special, especially around midnight, ritual that’s deliciously twisted comedy.

Hey, he got into my going back to past karaoke deejays and singing Hocus Pocus by the band Focus, and staying focused on the spiraling, literally, upward vocal crescendo. DJ BDay also once sat through my many-a-minute Rime of the Ancient Mariner, cognizant of the fact that a well-placed although lengthy-and-plenty-of-accompanying-lyrics guitar solo can be enjoyed by the audience also, if it’s a well-done classic.

As far as look, the cartoony logo/head shot of DJ BDay is inviting and shows a mic-type collar on the bottom and a flipped up baseball hat on top. This calling card design boldly goes at the bottom corner of his videos.

It’s a term that is frequently referred to and thrown around — depression. But just what does this mean actually mean? Not medically the above mentioned Industrial Disease, as those are Dire Straits.

Other than that … what does a depressed person’s brain work like? What thoughts go through that person’s (Motor)head?

More and more, researchers and physicians, and also my own doctor — and especially nurses, since as caregivers at their core, they tend to be this way too — are recognizing that at the key is yes in humor, but also in the basic and very Biblical, if that’s for you, principle of having empathy. And in being an empath you are like Christ in a smaller form than the crucified one — rather than the evil one, Lutheranism over Lucifer — and how you deal with life and your own depression is strongly impacted by the fact that many around you are depressed.

Because they too are in pain, and you recognize this more than others, your pain becomes worse in a very real way. That’s no joke. And some of the best ways to cope are in religious teachings and extrapolations.

— Music is the universal language, and it is universally recognized as being good for depression, like humor. Especially, though many people might not think so, metal music, from Metallica to Iron Maiden. Especially listening to Tool is recognized for promoting mental health. —

This being the month where the importance of mental health in all its forms is recognized, it is underscored by the ways we relate to — and understand — those around us who suffer from depression.

As a kid, I would lie awake at night giving myself solace in the idea that even though this earth’s life was extremely difficult — insomnia to boot accompanies depression — there was a perfect Heaven that awaits us, so buck up, although the thinking in the here and now is on one central question: Though there are many ways to define quality of life, and there are various day-to-day little things to consider as well as the big picture, does anyone at all suffer from pain that is genuinely intolerable? (In bed for the hours prior to sleep, I also pictured in my mind and revisited over and over the baseball plays I’d made as strikeout pitches, even during practice on my makeshift homemade mound, and one reason I did my throwing drills so ceaselessly was to give myself fodder for such thought.)

But to back up my thoughts on the state of intolerable pain, I will refer to both science and scripture.

The worst death of all may have been suffered by Christ. But even He found the ability to not just forgive his oppressors, but especially the physical strength to speak a few words, so his pain could be painted as terrible but tolerable. Peter chose to make it one worse, being crucified upside-down, but at this point after seeing what happened to His master, he could be seen, with a dose of comfort, as knowing what he was getting into. But we are told, “the mind is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

And then there are those many martyrs and even the pious who practice self-flagellation, who still choose to go ahead, before and even while enduring pain.

Those at the hands of the Inquisition had an out they could have taken, by simply recanting their alleged heresy, if the pain became intolerable, and if they did not take such an out merely over an idea, how horrible could it truly be. It has been said, for worst case, that any torture can be endured, if you can mentally prepare for it, and even then nature gives us another out in the last-ditch measures of allowance to go into shock or insanity. Or Blackout.

But what if one cannot mentally prepare, like the simple-minded or children or simply those caught off-guard. I think the key here is that God throws much of his grace in the direction of people in such situations, to give them the extra help they need in times of particular trial, and we all can take solace in that, too.

Prescription drugs that make it easier to tolerate pain, or go into the last stages of life, have not been around for most of humankind’s history, but it seems certain that these have been present for use in some way for as long as we have been gatherers, since various herbs were the forerunners of modern-day pharmaceuticals, even if less effective unless taken in huge quantities. And of Cheech and Chong and The Who, and who else?

My younger brother Tom, a Missouri Synod Lutheran, they don’t laugh as much or smoke, but if holy, may have been on to something when as children in high school we haggled briefly, and he thus evoked medication advances, over my statement I quoted that, “because of the work of groups like The Peace Corps, human quality of life peaked in the 1970s and has been ebbing downhill since.” I don’t know if this is where he was going, but I had just gained some much needed relief from what I’d been taking for my newly diagnosed Tourette Syndrome, and he had seen the result. From the mouths of babes; OK Tom is only four years younger.

Lastly, we could also haggle over whether severe pain is something that hits a plateau at some point and it is pointless to argue whether it matters if someone ranks it as a 9 on the scale, or a 9.3, or 9.6, (but 99.99 would be the percent of diseases that aspirin aids. Sorry to reintroduce bad humor.) . This may all be relative, another reason to take some comfort. Although it is not relative if someone has a low pain tolerance or not, and that such tolerance decreases as one is ill too long. Is this, maybe why and by design, most children tend to have a few less diseases? Childhood cancer stands out as a non-example.

Music is the universal language, and it is universally recognized as being good for depression. Especially, though many people might not think so, metal music, from Metallica to Iron Maiden, (sorry Mozart and move over Beethovan, although heavy metal is largely derived from classical music. It does not nearly as much taken from, or give you the blues.) Especially listening to Tool is recognized for promoting mental health.

So many music reactors will cringe at some of the unflinching lyrics, but then be strangely uplifted by the catharsis by the (last) guitar solo, especially when its taken to its (bitter) end, like in Fade To Black and the crescendo shoots, one could say, Heavenward. I myself find few things in life as satisfying as crying to a poignant metal song.

Concerning some of the above spiritual language, some observers have said that the Lutheran doctrine of salvation melds very well with the soaring and beautiful riffs of an otherwise wailing guitar.

This is such a broad topic, so for another time. But I will publish, probably on Wednesday, a list of notable music reactors who are also therapists. (They often have that word listed in their channel title.)

After a bit more research, I have to especially mention Mental Amanda, a suicide survivor, and several of her pieces as one of the first working in this sub-sub-genre. Faves are Metallica heavy, and in Fade To Black, Mental Amanda initially is thrown into existential crisis over the seeming fact that the singer actually “did it,” although praising its honesty and insight into how a depressed person thinks. Also noteworthy is a song about an “unnamed feeling,” that although unnamed is the topic of unrelenting repetition for reinforcement in its lyricism.

Forget Big Ben-ny and the Jets, too. This Sunday football game played in London featured small town Minnesota squaring up against The Big Apple, and time zone change factors became crucial — just like during the far most prominent of those royal weddings. And don’t think that fact wasn’t referenced, just as much as eye-opener Bloody Mary specials.

So hence, sports bars were open earlier than usual for the 8:30 a.m. start time, that being CST, on top of this big-ticket game and making offerings, and not those at Sunday church services, that were planned on a more timely basis than many a bar Halloween party.

— As I got picked up at the park and ride due west of Milwaukee, and saw one of their (ouch as you will see “local” as in Badger Lines signs) emblazened at the front of the bus, at it spouted line No. 28, and you will see the reason for the reference a bit further down …

Then there is that Biblical, sorry, No. 40, as was played out during the pregame and half-time and post-game FB shows, as per their featured guest, that the killer Cowboys, hey I’ve also encountered their trademark cheerleaders, plural, even in Hudson, took on their arch-(overused term)-rival Pittsburg from Steelers (Wheel) country for the first-time encounter of any importance (playoff motive and this could be more prone to baseball?) in what. 40 years? Actually they played in 1982, so do the math, that was when Iron Maiden also from (England in the Black Country, as it is called) first got going. And hey, then The Man as in featured guest, said there was also that killer, too, upset in college of football of proportions such positioned and also Biblical, the first such in 40 years.

And how many four-year spans, in terms of decades, for things presidential? The Mets were waving their OMG banners, and I also happened to see en route to Milwaukee one that, mistakenly I hope, said not Vance Trump, but Favre Trump, in another duel of five-letter words. More on that below and in an earlier post or two.) —

The sign on the door at Hudson Tap, posted not long before the arrival of the weekend, announced that they would open at 8 a.m. rather than the usual 11 for a Sunday. The Tap does not reconvene on days such as those hosting Monday or Thursday night football, until just a few hours before, with a 2:30 p.m. opening.

Ziggy’s Hudson, well-known both locally and in the Gopher state as a largely Viking bar, a rarity here, also hit the ground running like the Viking ground game of yore, right around the same time. And yes, you could see Adrian Peterson jerseys being worn aplenty — despite that his recent financial woes meant no jet flights this time over for dozens of close friends– especially by the guy most prominently placed in his sofa seat next to the big front window, as seen from the sidewalk. RB Robert Smith’s No. 22 also has been plainly visible. The parking lot was full, despite no sign on the door announcing advanced plans, much less tickets. But as far as a draw, prominent weatherman Dave Dahl was said to be in this, the house Pudge’s built.

Put the two together, encompassing Peterson’s No. 18, and you have the number 40 … meaning a time of trial followed by redemption. Purple Jesus also invoked?

— Hey wait a minute. Wasn’t the aforementioned All Day numbered 28? Yes, but for a league where averages are everything. AP’s 28 with other teams including the Vikings is balanced out by his return-to-the-NFL Titans-worn No. 8, for an average of …18. And for more to the metaphor of 40, AP’s average time in that yardish dash is/was 4.4. —

But with a win over the Jets and the longtime adversary Aaron Rodgers, also around 40, as Minnesota jumped to an early lead then hung on to win as this man as cerebral as Smith could not quite bring his team back from the brink, extended the Vikes’ unbeaten season. You can be sure there is Super Bowl talk afloat, even as their former QB Kirk Cousins threw for 509 yards just days earlier. Georgia had for three days been on people’s minds, after that big fish with stronger arms than fins had gotten away.

There were notable exceptions to the early opening rule. Dick’s Bar and Grill, which has seen somewhat of a resurgence as serves up plenty of Bloody’s to the boater crowd, remained steady in this star-power showing, but up the side street at Agave Kitchen, the chairs were still up on the tables, at least in the lower level, and beer signs had not yet been flashing in the upstairs Bullpen Cantina — even though the front door was moveable via its open latch, next to their self-congratulation birthday drawing on the kitty-korner wall.

One only wonders about the Village Inn in North Hudson — scrapping its Back the Pack until later that day? — a bar and grill that used to sell off-sale as early as 7 or 8 a.m.

I first heard about the Vikes-Jets 8:30 a.m. start the night before, at Dick’s, and thought my friend from Hastings had it wrong and the clock would actually begin its official run at that time in the p.m. But this was London Calling, like another song by The Clash, one that I used to perform with Jeff Loven in the evening after all the two-minute warnings had expired.