The Great Bambino hits a homer in passing muster. But how about his near-namesake with darker skin? Or the now ruler of this great land, and his scorecard, omnipresent on the course although not omniscient, even though it’s early.

Ask your elders.

One, to start, after tuning out Fox News, referenced hearing a song, over and over in her head, playing on and on. The one with “Frito Bandito.” I think that’s from a commercial. No Flying Burrito Brothers band. And definitely not Amigo Diablo, a group referenced earlier and often on these pages.

Is Frito Bandito, ethnicity-wise, even legal? Or deported. And dare you reference him positively without being shot?

A relative older than I, took a shot at the fact that according to Trump International Law, going backwards, the country that is Mexico could take back Arizona, New Mexico, much of California (if they want it) and parts of Texas (not without a gunfight.) A response came from a younger man who works in the trades, a Trumpster, but maybe the only one or two at the table who knew this was a result from the War of 1812. Right year? Also technically, and I am not a historian, but I do believe that the states were not just given up by Mexico, that they were ceded or taken in some other not willful action. In any case, they were obtained in a forceful way, like someone would in colonization. (Great Britian taking-territories-by-the-dozen style, and so many England rock bands bite the hand that feeds them and rail against it, taking a pass on being prim and proper on princes and princesses.) As did the old local band that actually was more than a cover act and wrote their own lyrics, The Amish Armada.

Which brings a further point: Does President Trump not want to stop at The Americas, and eventually conquer and rule the world? (And space?) It seems that his wish list (that may be all it is) land grabs of greater Greenland and the much smaller Panama Canal, or Canada, are not the end of his lust, and he has said that he is after, I will call it, territorialization. All power politicians are seeking such conquest.

It does appear that Trump knew what he was doing in threatening to apply tariffs if one or more countries would not allow a landing of a flight with deportees. They backed down and allowed the plane to hit the runway with runaways. Send singer Warren Zevon with lawyers, guns and money. Trump bullied them into acceptance. If that’s how it’s done, even allegedly on my behalf, maybe I don’t want it done.

A moment of clarity came from her, a bishop, (yes that’s right, a she), when she confronted Trump about why with all his many forceful actions, there is no mercy. Also asking is ZZ Top with their buzz phrase, “have mercy.”

There was the response of The Dons, those younger ones, just a (blank) stare. Trump himself looked irked.

As might The Evil One himself, who also wants to reign over all of the world, and all of creation also. Some have suggested that Trump not Kamala Harris or Mick Jagger, metaphorically, could be Satan. How so? Let’s break it down, theologically.

And for you Christians out there who might take issue with my analysis, I think that though not a Bible scholar I am on pretty solid ground, as most of you don’t really know what’s in your Bible. And hey, maybe I don’t either. But like a good metal band, I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I do know the questions.

First of all, it’s hard to find a place in the Bible where Satan is described as pure evil, or even overtly evil. That was introduced later by thinkers such as Martin Luther and his lyric “the old evil foe,” who brings “deep guile.” The Bible does say that Satan is an (ultimate) liar and deceiver, (and bully), in his power struggle with God to possess the universe. Sound like a politician, or maybe more than one, you know? And why does a leader or Lucifer need to use deceit. Simple. Their agenda can’t stand on its own, without being presented in a devious way, since after all, they do not have game, or a real game plan. So for criticizing their lack of an agenda, Game On.

And what does the Bible say about the ignorant? Not bliss. It is not always kind. The Bible is full of caustic references about the wise man and as a counterpoint, the fool, and it doesn’t cut them a lot of slack. Back to our more astute elders and their Bible: When I was a child I had the ways of a child … But now as an adult …

So act like one.

So with all that said, where are all the immediate solutions that have long been promised? Problems disposed of on Day One? The wars rage on. The cost of goods and housing has not gone down. Maybe this is why He has not ever really said just how He would do things. (No agenda to speak of that would fix things, other than deceit.) Just all things Trump, good or evil.

Married to the Packers? So much so that your wedding day was on a Sunday Funday weekend, when they just happened to be playing at home? So the town was full up, and it proved hard to book a hotel for guests, easier to get to the church, and rather we had to check out an air b ‘n’ b. Even though the bride works for one of the dozen-or-so it seems, banquet-hall-type-places that also fill the square mile that holds Lambeau Field, so the location of her reception was as much a no-brainer as going for a two-point-conversion when down by two. But with her, however, no b ‘n’ b connections. I guess that was shown by the fact, that a sign greeted all those going to a super-big-time wedding reception … but that was for a different bride and groom.

To muddy the marrying waters further, my brother drove up to Green Bay with me and the gang from Milwaukee, after I first had long-haul taken the bus to his southeast part of the state, from my west-central home, to meet up with them all Friday afternoon. Got all that?

And that one more crucial step, oh yeah, somewhere in the process my brother had gained comp tickets for us for the Green Bay Packer Hall Of Fame Through All The Decades Of The NFL And Before It Was The NFL, et al. As I would see, my father’s house, since he was a Packer fan too, has many rooms, not just a hall. So before the wedding reception started nearby, guess where we ventured to.

And as I had rummaged through these rooms in the journey of my life — I’m starting to sound like the omnipresent in both the spiritual and on-field Aaron Rodgers, but more on that later — one thing that struck and stuck was how my nephew bested my one hand by a full two feet in measuring the height of a legitimate inside-from-the-cold Lambeau Leap. I’ll spell that out more soon.

For starters at The Hall Of Fame, was redeem those vouchers, so you could go vouch for the Packers fame, completed and initiated with a stand in line of the many colors of Green and Gold, and some White, too, as that’s the melding of all colors and also Reggie’s name. So forget the Silver and Black. This is the Black and Blue. I joked a bit on the many sources of such football fodder available, with the worker who was going to take at least one of our tickets, time spent at his booth since he then directed us back to the main line which led into the ticket stands inside — another room.

Past Pack picks

This gave me plenty of time to reminisce about this being the first time I’d been back to again, Lambeau et al. in a long time. Since say the ’70s. Ah those years when the Pack could not sack anyone, and often not even gain that many yards.

But in the second of my two sightings inside the famous oval stadium, the Packers rammed it down the throat of the San Diego Chargers with a great passing game that scored into the 30s, with us being in the front row, like the just passed Bob Uecker, at the 40 yard line. So members of the soon-to-be-made-defunct Chargers came past and harassed us, then would stand not be on one (bended?) knee in order to block our vision of everything but a TD pass on an Old School zig zag, like you used to do in our big backyard, in the corner of the end zone. Ramble on, going there …

The first contest was when they faced the dreaded Bears, who to get to Lambeau probably ran on some of the same highway we did, and we watched that time from near the top row in the back of the end zone — not front or the corner — beyond where kicked footballs go.

But at this time, the Lambeau oval was relatively small, with a capacity of about 55,000 and a long waiting list for tickets. And also, no hall of fame or banquet facilities to visit if you were frozen out of tickets.

But with this year’s playoffs around the corner, now we stood in line again, not to get a seat but a walk-through pass, and I said to one, for the first of three times, then others in our group, I was extraordinarily interested in where they would place my fave BIG GB QB of all their many greats, Lynn Dickey. This was back during one of those times in the NFL when throwing for 400 yards and scoring 40 points was not unusual. I would ask this question because he was not shown until way in the back forty of the hall. Represented in just the form of a single football he might have thrown. Though it’s molded and welded into silver, like hundreds of those provided here in the decisions made by the Green Bay upper brass. They had to sell lots of tickets, for games and hall, to pay for all those formerly thrown big balls, in their current big ball they now throw every day of the week, displayed between its many walls.

And those walls just kept on coming, as we rounded corners. At first our five-person party ventured around a first main room, big enough to be impressive on its own, and I at that point thought, that’s all she wrote as far as the scope of the hall. Boy was I wrong.

You rounded the corner, then entered another big room, and another, and another. And near the end you saw that there was yet another floor, a second one just as big to view. It just kept on coming, like a Reggie White bull rush.

Dickey and Majik?

But still no Dickey, I ain’t lyin’ about this. Or yet also, my second choice for favorite quarterback, The Majik Man, he of at least one magic hand. We also had to wait a bit for the obligatory Favre featurette. And then Rodgers? He didn’t show up early or big. This was about the wins here and now and Jordan Love, too, as the lowdown on this, their prime marketing strategy, is basically brilliant. Use it to promote sale of tickets for the games currently slated, too.

So the first room or two was about, what are we doing for you lately. The other rooms and adjuncts were on themes, beating some of them to death, piling on in a very good way, with all the written words by the hundreds supplied to back up each icon.

Even though heat rises, it was up top that we discovered the Ice Bowl room. This was a ball. People were encouraged to sit, so they would keep their seat and not venture away, rather than stand as the entire game with commentary played through, until you got to that climatic moment. Seeing that Old School black and white footage was worth the wait. And we all knew ahead of time what the happy ending would be.

One of the last things seen before exiting is the very long hall within a hall, where lines of three-tiered glass cases held those silver footballs and/or helmets signifying the careers of all the greats who had ever won honors such as all-pro. There were hundreds, and the space at the end was starting to fill up, so they might have to had on if there is another set of Super Bowl rings to embrace.

This was the climax of everyone wondering if their favorite Packer moment, or player, would make the cut. These thousands of clips and memorabilia all seemed to be squeezed in somewhere, if even very nearing the end, leaving no one at wit’s end.

Lap that leap

But there was also that Lambeau Leap meter, where you could test your vertical jump vs. a pole with horizontal arms to strike with your hand at each inch, starting very small and going up to about 12 feet. My tall nephew, who could have just starting playing small college basketball, but instead chose the University of Wisconsin-Madison and co-rec leagues, went first and scored 10-and-a-half feet. I was eager to try, but our group moved on. I later managed to split off and double back, as I was excited but also more than a bit apprehensive about the challenge, since I could — just barely — dunk a basketball when I was in college.

So, I tried. Twice. And only registered 8-and-a-half feet! I told anyone in the family who would listen that felt I had embarrassed myself.

I thought geez, they invested some money into this hall. But there is an answer to that. The official Green Bay Packer Pro Shop, that goes way beyond golf.

There was every kind of good you could imagine, just with a Packer logo emblaze on it. Some prices were reasonable, some outrageous. They even mixed sports. Does someone really need something like a Packer golf umbrella? Or a Green Bay truck, and not from a local dealer, that has pasted on its driver’s side window, do not sit inside. (Or test drive it out of this “showroom.” I think we could have figured that.) Next to the payload, a man took his chances and yelled out “Go Colts” in invoking the opponent of the next day. Fortunately, since this was before game time, no one had quaffed enough beer to punch his lights out and end his pony show.

Our group swung around the corner and there was — another even bigger room, collectively almost as big as another football field. Too much. As we wandered out a man heard a quip from one of my family members, about that truck for sale and how it could cost some people their annual salary, and he wanted a picture of them and was talkative beyond the two-minute warning.

So, to this point there had been no November Rain. It had held off for most of this October wedding, fittingly, until toward its end, as this needn’t be a Packers-will-play-in-the-mud overall experience. Then it started coming down as we had seen the 11 men and things were now trekked toward the 11th month.

It is fitting that this is a threesome, inauguration day, Martin Luther King Jr. Day, and the remembrance of the death of a dear friend and colleague and supporter, pastor Dan Bruch, who fought tirelessly even into his later years for social justice, against odds.

But unfortunately, this time around might more accurately and currently, MLK might stand for Mein Latest Kampf.

But back to Bruch. I first got to know him when he was named a pastor of the local Missouri Synod church, Trinity Lutheran. It came up quite prominently when I was writing the obligatory new pastor story for the local paper, for which he would later write a longtime column on ethics and more, that he had earlier been brought up for heresy charges while working at another church. He had dared to advocate for ordination of women. That at the time got you clubbed in the MSLC, and I know this firsthand, as it is the church I was born and raised into.

But after “retirement,” Bruch started the still running and long existing Purple Tree store downtown — billed as perhaps the coolest shop in town — which famously sold ethically and justly raised and rooted and sustainable and Fair Trade items.

— Hey, it felt like 34 below. Still, the bartender at Hudson Tap last night was expecting more people than the handful she had, as what else could they be doing, besides sleeping, on a night like this? Pipes might freeze, and then thaw again massively when warmer weather returns in just a couple of days, and other rare concerns were mentioned in passing. But out of the streets, sidewalks were slick with what appeared to be frost affixed to the concrete. A plastic Frosty the Snowman figure was, how to say it, even more frosty. And the window at a downtown cigar den was caked with icy frost, so hey, crank up those cigars for heat’s sake. This is not blowing smoke. —

But these days, the times they are changing. So we view a what-if, worst case scenario, if at times there is an escalation in a deportation manhunt. Firepower is brought in for capture, even if they are crooks. This is D-day for deportation of immigrants, some said to have varying levels of criminal activity. As a new prez steps in today using lockstep, and for all we know, since Trump has pledged to bring the military in, so though be it this abomination will likely not bring bombs, one does have not-too-paranoid visions of how extreme it could go in rounding-up the bad asses. With just maybe, if this eventually is allowed to go too far, an occasional tank running amok and aMusk on some back streets. (Its happened before, albeit mostly in other parts of the world.) Chasing and searching and spying for the alleged bad guys. Or other overt action using military tactics, all in the name of conducting the most severe forms of our deportation, and maybe being dangerous to innocent neighbors. If you don’t believe my vision, check out one the depictions of the late ending sequences of War Pigs by Black Sabbath, the official video. Also, the Doo Doo Doo Heartbreaker video by the Rolling Stones, about ’60s cops running amok with guns, with footage showing them going tightly to the wall, door to door and window to window, seeking out in a stealthy way those largely black anti-war protestors, and hunting and trolling.

But if it does come to tanks being used in the witch-hunt — OK even Trump would hesitate to go that far — who is going to foot the bill for the damage they could do to local streets and other property? Again, back to the Stones and Gimme Shelter, a protest about the Vietnam War, a fire rushing down my very street today, pointing out that while we sit in our often pristine houses, there are those slaving away for a better life that still has not come, who have now seen an end to their American Dream.

But back to tank tactics, and the way they could destroy infrastructure with their series of wheels — and not like the River Falls guy I profiled who ran about the north end of town with his hobby tank — I can somewhat see an emergency meeting of various City Councils to pony up significant funds to cover street damage, and not by horses or cars or people or even monster trucks, but where tanks turned blacktop into gravel. Maybe such a repair effort, if necessary in the name of justice for those living on such streets, might hypothetically even be prompted in an irony by Sarah Bruch, council member and daughter of Dan, with the torch passed, but even this measure would likely require yet another referendum to OK funds. School funding via such budget drainage might suffer, and forget putting to vote building and paying for more jails to house all those Trump wants to round up.

It should be noted that just because the military gets involved does not necessarily mean there will be tanks rumbling through parking lots here and there. But given Trump’s hardline stance shown in scores of ways, and the fact that he has been quoted across multiple sources saying he would use military assets to the fullest extent he can under the law — and it is these laws that he is re-creating — or he get away with, it paints an anything’s possible scenario for use of force, especially if his initial efforts do not pan out as he is certain they will. So he ramps it up and becomes more hardline. Trump reportedly has told troops that in response to unruly demonstrations, for example, “crack skulls,” and shoot with massive firepower. Of concern is that such directives were given in his first term to be an immediate response to looting, a crime against property and not necessarily harming people, the latter of which would seem to bring an even harsher action. Trump has said much the same as far as actions taken with even those protesting largely peacefully.

One wonders if there will be deferential treatment for those who were originally illegal immigrants who are now in high places, and maybe even cronies of Trump. Such as those now running big companies, who I get it might hide behind interlocking — that you for that insight Robert Conant — boards of directors. Or for star sports players in any of the bigger leagues or other types of entertainers, as say hey, the football playoffs, pro not as much as college, are upon us. Don’t you think there will be civil challenges, further backlogging an already clogged court system, some of them taking the form of massive protection filings, by those who have the means, protagonist or antagonist. Constitutional scholars will likely weigh in, sometimes with the courts, and some of them are beholden to Big Business and its Bureaus. The little guy gets the shaft, in part because he can’t afford an expensive lawyer.

OK, I went “off the rails” a bit there. But here are practicalities. Say you want to order that cool pizza or Mexican or other food from the people of multiple ethnicities who really know how to bake it. Come today they might have their doors shuttered, or even crow-barred shut, as the workers and maybe even the owner of the business have been sent packing. So tip these working poor well while you can. Extra towel service at your motel, or press your pants? Same concern. And maybe forget having OJ served with motel breakfast, and somebody has to pick them, and with climate change they might not be there for picking anyway.

And if there are “intensive” searches, will a landlord have to pay for a broken down window or door. Trump’s not gonna help. Oh yeah, they’re likely slum lords anyway. So just bring in the cold. But the good news is if you work for a company that specializes in barbed wire fencing, the border situation might bring you a lot more orders. But will the financial bombardment trickle down? And Musk may be given a monopoly for space machines.

And oh yeah, our already stretched military will also have a couple of wars to end — today. Yes, methinks that with this abomination, there might be a few more bombs blasting, but then gridlock. So why do we not employ those immigrants looking for work by giving them a gun? After all, it’s a question of, why do we always send the poor? Thank you for that analysis System of a Down. And maybe Musk can, from space, blow up all the bad guys. But if they are of the wrong ethnicity, there might not be “re-entry.”

Sunday in the pews

What did the majority of the diverse group of faith leaders say about all this yesterday, in services. I can see the evangelicals trying to spin their stance on the aggression and have it both ways, while assumingly Muslim, Buddhist and Hindu leaders are staying sitting on the fence with a wait and see attitude to this immediate crisis, as to my knowledge few of the countries with those as state religions have stepped up and agreed to take the inevitable flow of Mexican refugees into their arms.

It’s tricky to speculate on how God weighs in, although he seems to have a non-hawkish leaning to the whole situation. But the stance of his Only Begotten Son is made clear in multiple past statements, of “do not mistreat the foreigner.” The Holy Spirit is working on the minds of those who pontificate.

A better solution

Maybe a kinder, gentler America might get us further. Two suggestions: Work with governments of countries such as Mexico in a PR campaign to distribute, even if with leaflets and using multiple languages, information to dissuade people from trying to make the trek and come here in the first place.

Second, say if there is a charge such as a single disorderly conduct, just let immigrants stay here and don’t clog the jails and the budget, as it has been written that we will be at our debt ceiling only a day or so after Trump takes office. (At what level of crime is the tipping point for automatic deportation? Maybe put that to a vote.)

Meanwhile, many are already feeling fright about the plight of impending flight. And not just immigrants. A friend is being like a chicken and scraping up dough, making it a point to be sure that she’s buying plane tickets before Tuesday passes, as with inauguration it’s feared to bring with it much higher prices.

That’s the way it is, and we note the passing of the torch of people almost as old as Cronkite. Twice. One fun and one feared. And who will attend their extravaganzas.

Bob Uecker. Sounds a lot better than Donald Trump, don’t you think? Even if it doesn’t roll off the tongue as easily.

The famed and storied Brewer announcer passed just recently, and at his funeral will likely be the old greats, the sorta old (middleweight) greats, and the new greats, as his stellar career that transcended to the national, and put Milwaukee on the map, passed through so many decades, as he called it from his perch above. Judge it not, as it is called Yount. And please don’t pass judgment on Uecker’s affable and hilariously comedic performance in Major League. This movie brought his common-man clowning to Cleveland, too.

But his face will indelibly and forever be etched, and imprinted, on the centerfield wall of thick tarp, on virtually every baseball stadium in the country, old and traditional or new and flashy, and maybe Latin America too. Just hope these new stars will be let into the USA.

But around the same time, Monday that is, there is a new “inaug,” and tickets or whatever you call entry passes for the plush, are being fought for by the Euros — mostly from northern Europe where they can tolerate the cold, I’d guess — and others hoping for the chance to kiss up to the new president. For those who are cut, and don’t make the cut, I’ll offer the following lower-case in-aug-ur-al: A not-as-hyped bring your own auger fishing tourney on a northern Minnesota lake. Hang with the likes of Grumpy Old Men, rather than the likes of … a few other grumpy old men.

At the real presidential inauguration, real celebs will be few, a don’t-show-your-face-but-turn-it compared to what challenger Harris had offered, with only one real “name” name in the bunch, and of that, Carrie Underwood selling her soul and possibly more to be a lead performer. Kid Rock, too, showing himself as a true redneck, not just in comedic style. Jason Aldean, in my book OK but a bit of an also-ran.

There are foreign leaders too, but again few faces anyone would recognize, as they all sent their designees so their only trip made overseas could be something in tune with Mar-A-Lago and/or golf. They’ll do the aforementioned later, in between interrogating political prisoners. And just as pissed-off (and it’s a stream of ice) are those who bought tickets to inauguration events, but now are “frozen” out. Read on. 

Just chill?

For all involved, they will have the inaugural festivities moved inside. Too cold. Or so it is said. Boo hoo. You’d score PR points as the prez coming in by not doubling down on that time you skipped out on an event — a slippery slope — because there was some drizzle, even if strong. An umbrella would have gotten you by. But that’s too much like those famously carried by the commoner British gents who worked as butlers for The Crown, (see music videos by even those from The Island), working class serving royalty. An image beneath us, apologies to Pantera.

(I gotta add this before what follows. Nobody likes the bitter cold and having your ears bitten more by the frost than what you’re hearing. But I live in Minnesconsin, so let’s get real. People have to deal with cold weather. Just keep the speeches shorter than the oft rambling forays the Republicans are known for. Maybe even shorten the guitar solos, and even the best bands have some songs they cut in half as far as time. And hey, up here in the northern part of the country, but still the USA, a 7 degree chill factor is mostly business as usual. Can anyone say Alaska? Has Sarah Palin given a statement?)

And even Monday’s predicted temps, and even wind chills, do not get anywhere near zero. This compared to the last time any inaug was moved indoors, 1985, when it was Ronald Reagan’s intro to-do — and that’s basically Bad Company not semi-sonic-sorta bad country — and that time the wind chill got WAY below zero. Big difference. All this smacks of pomp and circumstance turned into privilege.

Kid Rock hit northern Michigan to film his best viewed video. It described a summer scene, and good thing, as he apparently cannot tolerate even the possible November temps there, as he Monday will be indoors, too. I doubt that his mic would have frozen up.

The motive for the move is couched as concern for those in, and watching, the parade. (I will give kudos to Trump for looking out for the needs of law enforcement and emergency crews, and even their dogs and horses, although I’m sure this provision came from his handlers. But this last-minute change has led to a scrambling, as far as plans for security and emergency precautions — and the more people, the more need for security, leap-frogging — turning months of planning into days. And I gotta say it’s a very “hard” job, like most frigid ice, to have to change gears on a dime, but nobody ever cut Biden any slack on that. And doesn’t anybody ahead of time, check out the Mozart weather charts, to see if the conditions are safe outside? Apparently that’s just a Democrat thing.) But mostly just those mega Maga morons (and let’s just call it that) that are crazed enough to watch. I doubt that Elon Musk will be riding on a float for his company(s). A reported record of 30 miles of fencing have been set up, as security for such an event is at its most amped up ever. (It would’ve been 110 miles, but an alleged kickback to pro-Maga contractors who hadn’t heard about others who have fallen for the scheme, you know the kind, fell through because a third-party pay arrangement — can’t say check because of crypto — didn’t clear the bank or whatever other basically smarmy financial institution. OK, I made that last segment up.)

But unfortunately, this next part is not just satire. As I double down. Does not the deviously industrious Donald doubt that those very immigrant workers he promises to send away to parts unknown are the ones working out in this cold, and worse, while he sits indoors in a coming cushy Oval Office. Add also to the list of cold contractors all those workers he stiffed, and thus left out in the cold, in New York and elsewhere.

The donkeys too.

And yes, the Dems have broken from tradition also, but these are fine points with justifications offered that seem reasonable. Michele Obama was upset with lack of diversity at past to-dos, and Kamala Harris is busy with helping with wildfires (and now landslides) back in her home state of California, and I even got a plea for such donation. (A side note: The current Democratic administration has pledged aid, while it is unlikely firebrand Trump will give a crap.) But back on topic, Nancy Pelosi said she never got an invitation from Pence on a usual typical ceremony of the type, and the Pence side insists it was sent discreetly. So on that we note that hey, even emails can get lost.

Biden et al, as Dem presidents, have extended the courtesy to attend. We can’t be absolutely positive about the First Lady and Trump’s Main Son, at least one of whom is off to Greenland to try to buy it. Again, better make sure the check clears. Methinks Trump will exile Melania to THOSE northern climes, for at least the next four years, or the four years or more after that, and is just sending them there so he can fool around and perhaps pay for it, and still not get in any legal trouble, since they either would not be witnesses to it, or would need to be extradited. (Or one might get “shipped” to Panama and one Greenland. So double extradition?) Trump might be game for that kind of behavior. But let’s give him the benefit of the doubt until after inaugural day and night partying.

So now climate change has sacked The NFL. The raging fires around L.A. are no joke, but have done what even all the bad press could not — kicked the butt of the area’s entertainment industry in the form of nearly cancelling a pro football playoff game.

The Phoenix Cardinals were charitable enough to step in and volunteer their stadium and to host the game that allowed the Rams from even further west, to come out of the gates strong and never look back to handily defeat the favored Minnesota Vikings. In the end, wild fires could not quench the wild card game. In fact, they put it on the Monday Night Football main stage.

Following fall flooding, we have fires blazing, so this instead of a game played where temperatures, in preseason, reach around 125 degrees. That’s Fahrenheit, if anyone’s counting. Say hey, they could have played the contest in the Twin Cities, their Lambeau even if Lambs by comparison, where at the time the balmy temps were below zero.

Or move the game to some odd stadium in northern California, where the winds would have been high enough to derail an air game where even as it was, no team reached near 300 passing yards. The same winds cruised down south and gave wings to Boeings or such, enabling the Cardinals to reportedly fly in two plane loads of ticket holders from California so they wouldn’t have to miss the one-sided contest. The other 99 percent or so had to watch only if they could get access to a TV. Direct or so. (It still might have been too hot to drive.) Still, one has to give chops to the Cards for trying, and doing as much as they did.

The NFL went all out to give the Rams, which although have a poorer season record, were the home team (oops would have been), by virtue of having won their division, a “we’re hosting” feel. You know, like the Grammys or Oscars. There even was a great big Ram head and horns — we don’t know if Dodge trucks were a game sponsor — painted at the 50 yard line, spreading out to about the 45s on each side. Even Rams, whether players or animals, have been known to have forsaken the surrounding desert in summer for some AC — like in the luxury suites? 

Or, how about facing off at Fenway, where if you’d do the Lambeau Leap it might be into The Green Monster of a wall. Then if the opposition scored, in the next quarter when the teams changed ends …

And this winter especially, you’d face that same Lambeau cold on the home fields if many were hosted in the northeastern Cities … And in a Florida football stadium, the roof blew off … And remember just what Hurricane Katrina almost did to the Super Bowl? … This almost makes playing in London, again, look like a good idea.

The Viking fans, like most every year, got their walking papers way too early. I should have seen it coming. My bartender friend, you know the one that looks like she just stepped off the beaches of Rio, had asked me every single time I’ve been in this winter, and maybe a bit before, if I’d seen the big scrimmage, as it always seemed to be on a game day. I always said, uh gee, I dunno, can you fill me in? I just heard it was high scoring. In actuality, I usually wasn’t even sure whether she was talking about the Packer or Viking skirmish …

And even though she was typically wearing a Minnesota Wild T-shirt, you know the pro hockey team that plays in St. Paul, for you Out Easters, said add, “OK kiddo, just sit down and have a cold one and I’ll give you the lowdown.” Much like John at the bar in Billy Joel’s Piano Man.

There are now even more new reasons, under the sun, to set off to The Subhouse, it being located on the sunny side of the St. Croix River in the midst of Hudson’s downtown.

The decades-long shop on the west side of the main drag, now under new ownership by a veteran restaurantier couple, sports dozens of unusually substantive sandwich and wraps choices, hot or cold, that fill to the brim its even though chalkboard-size menu/sandwich board — and even more of their other food and drink types.

Their sandwich of the month special, The Resolution Buster, shows that typical creativity and sophistication’s that in many, their main vegetable and pair of sauce ingredients each have two distinct components, but is still low in cost. Not to mention the roast beef and au jus, they for example have this warm onion and green pepper, chipotle in combo with such as mayo, and added in is another double-your-fun two-ingredient topping, beer cheese sauce, just for starters.

Many of the main menu items have up to a Lucky 13 number of meats, seafood, cheeses, fresh breads, wraps, veggies, greens, sauces, and only the most flavorful seasonings and oils.

You’ve seen other specials, on the month usually, posted on this site and a sidewalk sign in the past, with interesting names, such as a Riverbender, a summer riverside staple that also features several primary ingredients.

Several soups and sides, salads and salad subs, chips and desserts, also are presented. You’re able to munch on a great big pickle along with the sliced pickles in some of their subs, so sandwiches great with snack. This isn’t your typical sandwich shop.

Meats get as zesty as smoked maple-glazed turkey, and the Italian Triple Zest features three meat varieties. There are also vegetarian kinds, and of course gluten free. Virtually all subs are for under $10.

Box lunches also are offered at the Subhouse, great for those going to places like area sporting events, enough to feed the whole team, kid’s meals too, and also platters and fully catered meals. There is also eat-in on tables, out on street-flanking benches, or delivery, takeout and other options.

Find them next to Season’s Gallery, at 407 Second St. on the near south end. Phone is (715) 381-9999.

As many as 13 main ingredients, many scrumptious meats creatively teamed with a whole host of edible accessories, are a staple in the dozens of sandwiches at the Sub House, a perfect and substantive fit as a way to fit in lunch or dinner. With your hunger humbled, you can go longer if antiquing, boutiquing or otherwise shopping, listening to various forms of music at local clubs, just checking out the charms of a local hometown bar, or even coming home for work or working late. Summertime brings a host of other ways the Subhouse can help you.

— In other divergent news, this is blues, but not the summertime version. Jimmy Carter reached triple digits, but quadruple is accomplished by no man, save maybe one. Now that Carter has passed, in a trip between New Richmond and Hudson in this red county, I saw a flag on a full-fledged pole — one and only one — at halfmast. There still are a scant few other Trump campaign signs up in right-of-ways, even though legally they had to be taken down earlier last year. On the big, now-bare-upon-razing full block in the downtown of Hudson, the garish adjoining Trump signs on sticks were soon removed, as were the two flanking ones on opposite sides of a glass door in a construction store. —

A recent 15-year-old female shooter attended a private K-12 school that was staunchly Bible based and Christ-centered in all its instruction areas regardless of topic, and emphasized discipline and order.

It also had some music courses in the typical areas, although the degree of exposure to styles is uncertain, an online analysis reveals, but the deadly shooter appeared to have gotten some of her education in other places, as she had worn a T-shirt of a German band termed electro-industrial, a group around for more than two decades that appeared amongst other genres as having punk influences. The photo of her wearing the shirt was at a rifle range where the family had established a membership.

That band, KFMDM, has lyrics that are non-stop aggressive and intense and raw, but could also be seen as possibly intelligent — in a base way — and maybe even thought provoking analysis of our tough and fallen world and a call to action. This is strongly seen in one of their main hymns, titled Dogma.

The band name is a shortened version of the German phrase “no pity for the majority,” and when they were young rockers they had those words switched and flipped around, a bit reminiscent of an early Megadeth (a metal band who sometimes likely did such things intentionally) but not quite as profound, showing a “just coming out of the gates” swagger and need for honing, as well as the fact that in that all-caps name there was a misuse of proper language, again showing a youthful rawness that just calls for an editor. That badly worded phrase has been well-noted in the mainstream press, without those writers actually noting just what the mistake was, showing that there is some complexity there.

It’s worth noting that the most hardcore and extreme rock and metal, especially in their calls for actual action against what they think is bad and even evil in our society, has historically come from Germany. The band name has been said, interestingly enough, to refer to killing Depeche Mode, another rock band, an inference that may have been taken from lyrics to one of its songs. It is not known if those lyrics were satirical.

You are not going to see exposure to any musical content like that at Abundant Life Christian School, where the shooter attended.

What we’ve seen

At first before writing this post, I just let the dust settle. After first hearing of the shooting, I and some others unfortunately thought this was possibly one of those small, private, maybe even family-run schools with a quite loose, top-end leadership structure and forceful creed that recognizes and abides by only an oligarchy of voices. Even that there can exist just a perception, based on the actions of a few schools, illustrates that there is a concern. We do not want this become an “us versus them” setting.

We obviously didn’t want, or get, anything from the school where the shootings took place with the indoctrination and near-slavery of say, that Waco, Texas cult.

Or a seminary where its mere mention causes educated, progressive Catholics, if by themselves, to turn their heads in scorn, and think or say, that’s where those fixated problem priests come from.

And an analysis makes it is apparent that at the Abundant Life Christian Church we had none of those things overtly, the typical ones that could provoke any children to anger, despite some initial appearances and flashings that could stem from even the name of the school being a little unorthodox. But there is an emphasis that is a little unsettling and indoctrinary, of “base-everything-on-the-Bible” studies and infuse that into all subject matter, and order and discipline. Metal groups have long cautioned against such religious indoctrination, and check out the also complex lyrics of the late Ronnie James Dio such as Stargazer and Bible Black.

Maybe part of the answer to keeping these things from happening is in the question of why some students and whole families are drawn to such smaller and one would think non-diverse of most broad opinion and straightforwardly rigid instructional schools in the first place. After all, it is often a teen, and maybe a student, doing the shooting. They usually have been angered by something more troubling than a typical childhood should provide. And it is clear that this alleged shooter was angry at the world and unhappy — and in a good or bad way wanted to do, and/or say, something about it.

Details in the alleged manifesto of suspected Wisconsin school shooter Natalie “Samantha” Rupnow paint a much darker picture of the 15-year-old’s life than the main family-based content on her father’s Facebook page, and conclusions that have been drawn from it in the press.

Rupnow, 15, opened fire at Abundant Life Christian School in Madison, police said, killing one female teacher and a 17-year-old female student. Six other people were injured in the shooting before Rupnow died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

Police said, initially, they have not confirmed that a darkly written, Google Doc titled “War Against Humanity” circulating on social media is Natalie Rupnow’s confirmed manifesto. In this unconfirmed document, the author writes that “they” have “grown to hate people and society” and calls their parents “scum,” according to one press report. 

School background

Abundant Life was founded in 1978 as a community Christian school, serving the surrounding area, with its first graduating class only seven years later. ALCS was specifically organized to offer students academic (though focused) excellence in a Christ-focused context and content. ALCS offers grades from kindergarten through 12th grade.”

This is basically a mission statement: “Each individual is uniquely created by God!  This basic truth is emphasized in our instruction for all students.  As a result, ALCS students learn to honor other people and to respect the rights and property of others.  Training in these principles establishes a school atmosphere of discipline and order.  This enables the ALCS faculty to devote more class time to actual teaching, thereby fostering academic excellence.” I can appreciate venues that just put it out there, and say this is who we are, so that people know what they are encountering.

ALCS uses a combination of Christian curricula from Abeka and Bob Jones University for their preschool through elementary students.  At the middle and high school level, they use a combination of Christian and secular materials “which best fit our instructional goals in each academic area.” 

All subjects are taught from a Christian perspective, a guide says.

The Elementary School Program (grades K through 5) includes course work in Bible, language arts (using a traditional phonics reading approach), history and social studies, mathematics, science (taught from the perspective of discovering God’s creation), health, computers, physical education, art education, music education, and library.  Beginning in 4th grade, students may participate in chime band.  By 5th grade, the students may begin extracurricular sports.

The Middle School Program provides course work in the five traditional areas of Bible, language arts, history, mathematics and science/health. Students also experience classes and activities in physical education, the fine arts, including art, drama, vocal music and instrumental music, Spanish, computer education, and financial literacy.

At the high school level, the core curriculum consists of the following areas: Bible, English, social studies, mathematics, science, and physical education.  Elective courses are offered in the areas of foreign language, business, vocal and instrumental music, art, drama, computer applications, and yearbook publications.  Student activities include: National Honor Society, worship, band, prayer groups, and various clubs, along with athletics.
Biblical knowledge is believed to be a key factor in providing a successful education.

The author also writes in the document that they acquired weapons “by lies and manipulation, and my father’s stupidity” and as a morbid solution describes wanting to die by suicide, but feeling like carrying out a shooting was “better for evolution rather than just one stupid boring suicide.”

Meanwhile, posts and pictures on Jeff Rupnow’s Facebook page paint a picture of a typical middle-class American family. Posts from November of both 2022 and 2023 show his daughter doing things like happily playing with her dogs in a pile of leaves.

Jeff also posted a photo of Natalie at a gun range on August 17. In the photo, she is wearing a T-shirt featuring the logo and art work used in promotion of KMFDM, that German electro-industrial band, which is the same shirt worn by Eric Harris, one of the perpetrators of the 1999 Columbine High School massacre.
Rock T-shirts are nothing new, but to draw a generalization, if they depict a very popular band such as Iron Maiden, (probably the most used choice), it usually is an attempt to be with the “in” crowd, where if the band is lesser known or a niche genre, the wearer is more likely to have a knowledge of their content. This band’s cover art, with a couple of exceptions like one showing two naked women lying together in R rated content, tends to be less graphic than that of many.

When a friend asked if the teen shooting the gun was “kiddo,” Jeff Rupnow replied, “Sure is!!!! We joined NBSC [North Bristol Sportsman’s Club] this spring and we have been loving all every second of it!” according to a media report.

So 2025 is here, for a few days already, and a dentist shop down the way still, to draw in those needing a crown this Xmas, has a full-on — not a “partial” as that work would be more a business thing — display of a moving Mickey and Minnie Mouse with all those red, green and white trimmings. Thus if you get the drill, and want to view it, the holidays are still with us, just check out the northeast end of Locust Street in Hudson. See if you think Minnie looks just like Milli Mochi the music reactor. Just half the height.

But it is high time, with all these musings, for a year in review. There are so many possible and meaningful categories and sub-categories, but to pick we revisit a notable or two from above, and around, the globe, The Year in Space 2024.

Our eye is drawn to one of the latest lunar exploration luminarities, both a success and failure, as upon attempting a gymnasts-style-stick-it landing, its tripod fell over — after hitting a moon rock? — so the whole “blasted” thing toppled to the ground.

But there were of course some Musk achievements when literally rocketing in orbit, and North Korea is still trying, but it seems the best they can do is cross a bay, much less an ocean.

So we leave that to Elon, and maybe he will more fully fund NASA so astronauts can actually eat on the moon, even if regular people can’t on their kitchen table. Some can afford basic Chinese cuisine, as its (relatively) low in price, but China will not triumph, yet, unless maybe they utilize space junk, and rehab it first. But no Joe’s Garage exists above the stratosphere, and Frank Zappa has departed the scene in his featured possible role as chief mechanic/lyricist. 

So I get around to the point: There have been many technology near successes, but other fails to follow up on as a writer. I start with what you’d stink would be the most easy, all that glossy and sparkly paper that was wrapped around gifts under the tree. But we’re really just foiled again.

Some of these listings will be full of brittle foil. I will explore that danger to the info length of a scientist …

I can just envision Musk standing over the top of a poor Scrooge assistant with a whip. If you got a single strand of hair, one, the kind that seem to abound everywhere, pasted under a piece of that tape for the gift being wrapped for a well-heeled client, better remove it fast. It does not look professional, when applying a sooth-their-ego nametag, and the guy knocking on the door is an auditor. We’ll all been stuck with this gift-wrapping nightmare at some point.

If the hair’s curly Q is only sticking out from the edge of the tape’s far end a half-inch … what if it was only a quarter-inch? Acceptable? No, still must try to jut and cut.

Can’t get the scissors positioned right, to snip it off, anywhere near the tape’s outermost edge. (Like if you’re trimming your beard, seeing that one strand, and are looking in a mirror with everything showing in reverse, bass ackwards.) But wait, a bit of success!! Only how did I get a small bit of hair to remain? How close is close enough, mm not cm.

So just rip off the strip of tape, being careful not to take any bit of wrapping paper with it, and then what? It just attaches to your Sticky Fingers! I’ll bet The Stones never had to deal with this, as they likely have their wrapping of presents done for them, even if on the fly for that cute babe in the second row.

So you turn your scissors sideways, no luck, then try Combing Straight On To You when applying it another time: Same method, same result, while expecting different hair. Is this the definition of madness?

And what are you still, with Christmas Past looking you in the face, still wrapping and not having given? Sketchers, sweaters, checkers.

In the first case, shoe memory foam is thickened to become brain fog.

More than the foil fails

So what of other fails, not just wrapping, of the holidays? I’ll introduce a few I saw on New Year’s Eve …

With it 16 below in Canada (Vancouver?), and not as cold here but still bitter, there were immediately seen lots of people outside sans jackets. And no little black dresses, only swatches of leather on the otherwise bare legs, often only at the upper thighs, and usually not in the form of skirts.

Once inside, this question, also on style, made me think someone should be cut off: “Is my hat (brim) on the front or back?” You mean you can’t tell? You know, with fingers?

Another fashion of the moment was the obligatory New Year’s Eve cress with numbers 2025 in the hair. One women first wore hers front and back like a dino, then switched it to the less diverse sideways. It later in the night was the only type of decoration sitting alone, by itself, on the sidewalk. The next day, the pieces of signs of the night before could be seen over long stretches on the main drag in Hudson, but oddly, more in front of less rowdy clubs than those who wander toward that direction.

Over at an outdoor ATM across the concrete from any buildings, a trio of women was risking frozen fingers to make a transaction. Houston, (see below), there was a problem. “What, I can’t find my card? It’s expired? Why can’t I find it. Where’s my card?”

Reminds me of an old ditty, not by P Diddy but from my old German upbringing, and translates literally to this: “My hat has three corners. Three corners has my hat. If it doesn’t have three corners. Then It’s not my hat.”

— Rhythms of threes? Gotta bring in the Trinitarian. I simply have to mention here the Green Maharishi with the Two Pronged Crown, (oops, thought it was three, but maybe add a hair bob to the back of the head. Two will get you three.) It was done first by Fleetwood Mac and then redone (much heavier or no?) and famously by Judas Priest. Cool for Santa, first rushing forward to save our globe for the Children of the Grave and now at home at the North Pole and chilling out. —

I think we get the main point. I also think the original songwriter had overindulged, on either beer or Adderall. Or both to make, basically, three.

This was Science Fiction Day, so beam me up Scottie.

Maybe transport me to Austin City Limits. As they have music. It was there that my niece just accepted a marriage proposal. So the now “new” couple had flown from Wisconsin all the way down to New Orleans for the moment of truth, on New Year’s Eve, braving even area tornados on the airplane be able to do it in the land of honky tonk and large hats, not polkas and lederhosen.

Back up here, a sign said it all, sort of. It read simply “Happy …” The guy must have fallen off his big ladder, but I think you can fill in the blanks. Noteworthy, the band Phil and the Blanks has played here on recent New Year’s Eves.

Looking forward

V-Day, as in Valentine’s, has now virtually arrived with the gonzo ties to gift-getting going up on all the shelves, as the just-past holiday cards become a no-no. (My friend just stayed up all night dispatching them, as her days for acceptability were ticking.) If you didn’t mail for Xmas, six of the eight slots for homegrown cards at a big local retailer were sold out, so look forward.

At a venue across the parking lot, little trees still are stocked, for a little holiday cheer to set in front of you and keep you inspired for your last jottings.

In the movie rack, Batman as a movie version is outdone by the Joker on several that are hyped, then we go back to other sci-fi themes, if staying at home for your flick watching new year. As the apocalypse nears as per your viewing, this may be your last for such ringing in.

So, prior to waiting for another holiday to transpire, a nextdoor truck-trailer still has all its lights on and aligned to their its, especially on their corners, so no semi about it, despite the fact that some large-discount-store grinches have forbidden overnight over-the-road-trucker parking.

No such problem in the Kwik Trip lot, it did not leave things go: It did its own year in review, in its online ads. It listed for you, how many visits and purchases you had made, at particular times, in the past year. (What if they had a run of them at 11:59 p.m. on Dec. 31? Would that back up their ability to count immediately?) Other points noted, as I am OCD about my Kwik Trip. I made 782 visits in 2024, and ate 13,961 French fries. OK, I made that up.

When in Hudson on New Year’s Eve, do what the Hudsonites do, and move from the first freeway exit northward to catch those places over the river that stay open the latest. Tuesday timing makes it gone with the wind, for some.

When following that general rule of thumb, and go north a mile or two or even three, you may find destinations that are not closing per their usual time — with that being say around 9 p.m., bah humbug and aha grinch, with nothing special slated — but indeed are open until 3 or 4 a.m. With the more leinient rules in some Wisconsin cities.

As you head northward from I-94, in the first major building you will find, there is a trendy boutique that sports a sign saying “closing at 3 p.m. for inventory.” The big grill and bar also housed there, very typical in this south of heaven, has only its regular hours.

At the first major parking lot, a placard boasts a Thursday special, but again you have to wait past New Year’s Day, “large pizza for the price of a small.” The craft distillery on the south end of the parking lot only has their typical hours. For this night, being a Tuesday, and within normal delivery and takeout times, there is the option of the-several-year-consecutively-award-winning Green Mill specialty pizza and pasta. A Minnesota import comes through. Though their ad hawked the wonders of “Staying In Tonight,” and if that term fits, in one way of looking at it, depends on if you take delivery or choose to do takeout.

Yes Virginia, this is a Tuesday, and in these days of cutting costs, that makes it a day with complete closure of some grill and bars that offer mostly the grill end. (Only Monday is worse for that.) But as you inch toward the North Pole and Santa Approved, the (closed at 2 p.m.) Subhouse had on its doorstep a large box of free bread items that were individually bagged in small groups.

Most noteworthy of the places open late, The Smilin’ Moose being the farthest north in Hudson, and the Wild Badger in northwesternly New Richmond, each have massive balloon drops at midnight, to go with DJ music. Several dozen balloons or more, and extra hours, with sober cab. Also of note with some such things is the Village Inn, located in, you guessed it, North Hudson, and if you go a bit further toward Frosty, there is Big Guys BBQ Roadhouse, note that last word, also featuring their omnipresent shuttle bus, and not scuttlebutt. Other late-runners, in the two or three most non-residential north-end of Hudson blocks, include Dick’s Bar and Grill, and to a bit of a lesser degree with its last call, Hudson Tap closing at 3 a.m. You can get a ride from there too.

And although a place to hit earlier, there is right next to Dick’s, as one of four of those I normally do not give much ink …

— At Pier 500, “New Year’s Eve classical,” includes twin lobster tails or a single, steak filet, scallops and/or parmesan-crusted walleye. And that’s just for starters. And going forward past New Year’s, there’s the “limited Pier 500 single barrel select Sazerac bourbon.” But no, you don’t get the full barrel, it comes with a limit of two bottles per guest for a “Pier-fect” holiday gift.

— At Tattersall, a distillery and more that originated in Minnesota and has now added a large facility just north of River Falls, due to more advantageous Wisconsin rules, (theme here?), they in addition to their regular dinner menu, will offer a “special NYE menu including crab cakes, shrimp cocktail, walleye, New York Strip and delicious desserts. Plus, a complimentary pour of bubbles for those who choose to dine.”

— If you want to show off your singing as well as athletic as well as culinary tastes, suggested is karaoke to wrap it all up at the Hudson Bowling Center in Plaza 94, north of the freeway, on New Year’s Eve. Other than being on a day early in the week, the beauty of this is that unlike some, the singing, and they have some virtuosos, generally doesn’t get going until about 10 p.m. So you can dine and then bowl first. Then sing Hunger Strike, to imitate a rock supergroup.

— While there, consider dropping off a wrapped toy at the adjacent Jonesy’s Local, for all ages up to 17, although best are over 12. There are in-person and online options for delivery if you want to make like Santa. And the good news is that they accept donations, unlike some, through the 31st! Beer there, or be square.

The gifts and re-gifts have been returned, and I think that may have something to do with the fact the postal guy for the US service has been out and about early, in a rarity before noon. Naughty not nice, you are, if you didn’t get that special someone their gift via the mail until the 26th! Overtaxing the Postal truck driver/deliverer. Need the warrior strength of several Amazons. But the spirit of Xmas remains, so don’t go postal, even as we all approach New Year’s, and will 2025 be different than 2024? The carols have been sung (quite badly and maybe just hummed if you don’t know all the words), but you might want to extend it with karaoke (worse but there is a lyrics sheet on the prompter). So here is a mashup of All That Remains of the holiday, as we are on day six of the 12 that make up Christmas, rolling forward with NYE to 2025 at the same time as looking back. All the way to 2016?

So we are now in the sixth of the 12 days of Christmas, we made it halfway through, so I offer another hodge-podged half of bits of advice, celebration, humor and events.

At midnight on the 31st at the Wild Badger in New Richmond, there will be a silver-ball-and-moreso-balloon-dropping, maybe like in Pinball Wizard, or disco, as from the higher-than-usual second story ceiling, much like the ones they did at the old Pudge’s north wall, back as far west as you could go, a decade or two ago, to bring in customer traffic from the various venues that was about. The 2024-2025 event is kept at a similar length of descent, as it’s this time a balloon drop, and will be done indoors.

— Unlike the above, this venue has been raising a stink? The City Brewery’s “process,” and Lord knows I don’t want to know what that is, had been evoking a rotten eggs smell across LaCrosse, where it has a plant, to the point that fines had been adding up. I wonder as I wonder, or wander, do they also have that problem where they make LaCrosse, or is it LeCrosse, autos of the sort that had been driving in front of me, or are they becoming obsolete? All this from my old pal and employer, the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, in their statewide roundup, identified by corner region as in directional, where they made exception for my end of Wisconsin and simply called it Driftless. How is that? And indeed, why mention this here? Read down for further “spoils” of the year. —

A few blocks up the sidewalk, on the Friday before Christmas, the barber closed early, after high traffic the day before — the seating inside was full and having the others sit as a pair of couples just outside the door in the hallway — so that left Saturday as a no-show, and maybe even Monday as an outie. I wondered what will happen right before New Year’s?

I saw my very friendly, old friend Ricky for the first time in almost a year at a store on the other end of the downtown, where he used to work. The obvious joke, as he plinked away trying to make his new phone work to talk to others, momentarily distracted, was that old Steely Dan Song, “Ricky don’t lose my number …” And Ricky is now in his own band.

And, if you get the bug (in a good way) … The Hudson Bowling Center is again offering a rarity, as part of an ongoing tradition of theirs, special since it falls on a Tuesday, NYE karaoke. INXS? One wonders who will be singing as the ball drops.

The time leading up to New Year’s was marked by weekend football, and a need for munchies. It had come, my trek into one of the new Circle K’s in Hudson, in the downtown — as they move from Minnesota into Wisconsin — where I encountered a man wearing a Viking jersey No. 4.

He tried to redeem a lottery winning ticket, but was told that it originated from the Gopher State, so he could not do so over here in Badgerland. So we talked about the, changed subject, wonders of being a short man, unlike Randy Moss, and rather like my 6-foot-8 nephew trying to fit into his six-foot bunk over at UW-Madison. The jerseyed man was ambling next-door to Ziggy’s Bar, another Hudson transplant from Minnesota, to take in the game between his sometimes beloved Vikes and the Packers.

Come the afternoon, guests would include past Viking pro-bowlers and hall-of-famers Randall McDaniel and Tommy Kramer. And the omnipresent man of both states, Dave Dahl, as emcee.

And for a late-season change, they had a lot to play-by-play banter about, as the Vikings and big-day Sam Darnold held off a late charge from The Pack and won 27-25. (At the Stillwater lift bridge, there was a “Viking-Packer tug of war” over the river but hopefully not in it. I believe the Packers won this one. I cite all the Stillwater-area transplant venues, and also the Next Stop Bar in Houlton, a Badger berg even though small enough to be unincorporated aided the title. All the small things …)

The new convenience store string, a stalwart in Minnesota, toward the Twin Cities upper end, and across the St. Croix but not as far down to pass the Wisconsin River, leaves just one part of the trek behind. Way behind: North Dakota. Not even Iowa is this barren, as corn stalks score points. At least it has — and only has — Des Moines. Even the flatlands of Illinois can look east to Chicago.

But I bet it still has its trademark, word chosen for a reason, a college football bowl game. Corporately named with the bought and sold, old worn smelly jerseys, metal flecks of goalposts. And I bet it is (badly and get as many corporate buzz-type words in there as you can) dubbed the Amalgamated Crabgrass Abate Removal Technological Systems Bowl. Doesn’t this want you to see two feet and a cloud of dust? No Astroturf. With Joe Dirt performing at halftime?

Now, some humor pushing PG-13, if I can get away with such in this season:

Skipping cornfields, except for his corncob pipe, I enter into the streetscape my partially made-up character, Frosty The Ho-Man, and what is he, trans? Ho, ho, ho. And not necessarily holy, since as has been duly noted, the word Santa is not far akin from Satan. Ha, ha, ha. And put the ho in snow. But when getting past caricatures, life on the streets is no joke, even as Frosty “crosses” them at the corner.

So you better think twice, when going out for food when shopping.

Tis the season for not only killer snacks grub, setting on the table and virtually any flat surface, but food recalls of several brands. My niece still got sick for the holiday, followed by another niece … and my other niece? (Actually, I only have two, thank you Bob Newhart.) Two other members of families, and then more up near Appleton — none named Applegate — we know also got a grinchlike bug over Christmas, bad enough to decide not to attend services or holiday parties where you get gifts like, this year, Pepto Bismol. Even the bus driver got the bug, actually from a donut shop bad sandwich, but forged through with a long break stop or two.

But none had been to McDonalds since early fall or before, or any of those other places that in the last few weeks have got some bad fish or veggie, or both, or whatever. And on the sign of a marquee in Eau Claire on both sides when going to both Milwaukee and back, gave the invitation that the McRib is back being fried. But do you want it?

This invites where few would go, except Old School farmers. Cannibal sandwich anyone? Yes, the thawed but raw ground beef version placed on a bun and virtually smothered with black pepper and onions. Inconceivably, I’ve never known anyone to get sick on it.    

Going back a bit, in this time of tinsel-like clothing and accessories, to also include old TV talent show placings, Clay Aiken in an interview truly sported the ugliest-in-glowing-green-too holiday shirt, along with too-short sprouting-out hair that is like a bad version of Bowie — but each had their own charm. As does his new corral of Christmas carols, on sale now.

Then downtown there was Henry, and his non-PC T-shirt that had flickered on it an indie rock band and the phrase “120 miles to Mexico!” And comedian-TV host Steve Harvey on the above screen piled on, with a head-to-foot blazing red suit reminiscent of Santa Claus!

So lIke Santa and sleigh, catching major attention were many drones over in the east, from whom? In weather that a TV national news anchor cited, majorily, that was in six-below wind chill, which really isn’t that bad, viewed from my perch as a Minnesconsinite.

So I’m not watching in a luxury box like Taylor Swift, but do you look like red-stocking-hat beau Travis Kelce? All those shirtless guys, that’s cool and so cold, who are very portly but still strutting for those cameras would fit in well at Lambeau Field.

There was that airplane stowaway suspect trying to stowaway again — wanna get away? — aboard of all things (like my travels) a Greyhound cross-country bus! She was caught states away in Buffalo. The TV news days later told the tale of yet another stowaway, back to again in the air, wreaking havoc.