We have a gap. And not just in redacted info that’s blackened out, as in names of those who are stars, or not, and other non-important stuff. Like political figures.

Go figure. The World Series is done, Wild hockey has just gotten going, Monday Night Football was last night so now there’s a break until Thursday, but no Super Bowl in sight, basketball is only in mid-stream and trout season does not open for some time, and mega ice fishing, even when it arrives, will have to combat global warming, so we putter around, but golf is done for the year, and soccer’s FIFA finale was back in July …

But we do have MAGA to entertain us. They of course, can fly to a far-flung course. The crown prince has graced us with his presence from Saudi-land — and seemed unimpressed — and in a sport that’s loved as much as golf in that desert’s oasis, one of soccer’s most known players is set to visit the White House, too. MBS and more such BS.

So for now, as far as actually something to watch, it’s … live coverage of the Epstein Files vote. (The House just approved its release of more of the files, following the first batch. The matter now moves on to the Senate — whipped past there also — now just waits for Trump’s signature.) Not to be confused with the X Files. Too creepy.

But seriously folks …

Trump now backs the Epstein docs release. Two possible reasons, I can cite. From the psych and strategy doc …This way he can have his cake and eat it too by taking credit for the release, and looking like a good guy. He can still blame the Democrats for the matter even being an issue, if he spins it right. He already is using circumstances regarding this “release” that had become a foregone conclusion, which when it comes right down to it was not a matter of if, but when, to distract from other matters, or scandals, that are brewing.

Trump has had some victories lately, where he showed his prowess, even if it is a narrow skill set. He again has now drawn high praise, amid the other rumblings, for trying to successfully broker another Israel-Hamas deal, which just gained a UN OK, for example. And the idea to cap the annual cost of living increase in social security benefits, for highest income recipients, in a reversal of course, does not seem like a bad idea, even if it helps fund other questionable things. Give him credit when it is due.

But this begs a question.

When analyzing his messaging and other messages, it can be hard to determine just what Trump’s constituency is, exactly. He can, or at least seem to, often really turn off his hardcore base, like when he publicly degraded the general intelligence and character of a former colleague who has a prominent pro-police stance. (Or was that the second or third person he degraded in record time.) Is this not the same man who demands that police officers be allowed into many major cities with a mission of, essentially, solving most of their problems. This, for him, would seem like common ground.

He has broken ties with the major-former-supporter-and-deep-south-legislator. Twas the night the light went out in Georgia.

He even, again, misspelled and changed her name. She E-licited numerous death threats. Trump, nah, yesterday’s news.

Per that state, in many cases, in song: “Don’t trust a soul and no backwards southern lawyer.

“As the judge at the trial has a lot of things on his head.”

And as far as names, and name calling, Trump redacted and revisited, calling the female reporter who dared ask about such files, the “Piggy” name, an insult even to those who are not “asking” for it.

The man in the dark …

More people should educate themselves by watching C-Span and the like.

During such live coverage of the shutdown debates or non, (remember that?) this token House member was spotted (by me at random) standing near the middle of a 25-foot-wide open area in front of the podium, closer to the main group over there of just over a dozen people, than over to another man who stood alone. The first guy walked over, with red tie front and center, and shook hands. He then talked to him while making lots of hand gestures and the other man listened with arms placed behind him, (clue?) for about two minutes. When another couple, a man and a woman, came over, the tie-guy lingered for a moment, then hobbled away slowly, staying relatively close to the other man. The Thin Man.

This observational comparison teams with one I’ll make of a photo of the current and now much more elaborate and high-priced Oval Office, compared to what it looked like prior to our Trump. Today was the day that he threw it on back at you — as it is ablaze with gold on all sides and from front to ceiling and even makes up all of the desk that you could see — compared to a photo it teamed with displaying the much-less-decked-out version from earlier years. An online commentator asked — simply — viewers to message him with which type of the office they liked best, and described today’s version as “ornate,” and said nothing more.

I thought if doing his job, he should at least offer some more verbiage to describe the wonder we were beholding, but no. (Keep in mind that His Office, and not in the john as that’s even more gold, had its plans scaled back when presented to presidential advisors. Gold doesn’t float.)

So I will give those glittering words.

Across the wide shelf about five feet high in back of the desk’s flooring — I think it was raised a couple of steps beforehand — were about five tea-cup-type-things, or were some of them garnished with garish urns, every one very big and all ordained with the metal of choice.

Now getting back to the bathroom that looks like thus and beyond, and was made for vintage era Queen Victoria when she so famously was said to sit on her “throne” while smoking joints, for pain relief mind you, its fixtures were not as elaborate as where Trump sits when he uses his pen to sign great big beautiful bills. There in another such photo is not as overtly much spacing between the toilet and the window, the granted ritzy-but-not-rough-around-the-edges bathroom mirror seems near regular size, and the shelves below are not numerous. Only that one “stall.”

Back to the bad bubba picture, as announced, it’s buffoonery. Disclaimer, meant for Public: I have little problem with graphic and even explicit humor, as long as it is indeed humorous and intelligent. But this is just blowin’ in the wind.

It’s no joke. The idea of a joke is to actually be a bit funny, and this communicae set the bar so low it is likely located in hell, if you get my snowless drift, even in the lowbrow days of South Park humor, which though not profound at least creeps up toward that level on occasion. At least they can spell.

All Mr. Mark, saying Putin might have the photo too — so for the first time to separate himself from his brother on the matter, literally, added is that it was a private joke not meant for public disposal. Then all he has to do is come right out and say it, and/but he appears to be embarrassed by the content — Bill is not Bubba. Four words. Like this: Not meant for public viewing. Oh wait, that’s five. Instead Mr. Mark issues a non-denial that is the most non-denying in the history of non-denials, and still goes on at length. In J School they used to say no sentence should be more than 30 words. This pushes that rule, or even breaks it. As do I. The difference is that I actually say something, not ramble on with a run-on and in the final analysis, Mr. Mark manages to say virtually nothing.

And if something violates all of these cardinal rules and more, why even send it in the first place? So many celebs get caught with their pants down, then cry foul, when they indeed were the ones that pulled them down, themselves. (The conflagged collection of data, or just he said, she said, tossed back and forth, is only matched by the latest matter in the news about The Kardashians.) Why even transmit these photos? These transmissions are more actively tracked by reporters and the public alike than those from Mars — now that with budget cuts, space exploration has little to do with NASA and is nothing more than celebs spending money with spacey X that-actually-is/was-sent-to-be-used-for-Trump-legal-bills — and which has more credibility? Just kidding. Better say that.

The Bubba Files appear to be actually earlier in its actuality than AI, so they can’t use that excuse. What year beforehand, when old Bill could get it up? There’s nothing more lame duck than a languishing limp dick president, the latest one. Servants, bring thus to us, tea for a couple of blue-wing teals in fancy cups. (More likely red-wing blackbirds, or better yet, red-tailed hawks, minus Cheney.) And don’t forget a pint for Putin. It has long been speculated that the Russian leader has something to hold over Trump’s head. It would seem to show. And one would think people would be more concerned about the alleged crimes against little girls than alleged consentual sex depicted between two men.

This roadshow stopping in Hudson is quite a fun ride, with a detail to the bits and names that go into making something a piece of marvelous and even festive memorabilia. Often with a story behind it that’s more than just a yarn. They are here, now, through Saturday, set up at the Holiday Inn Express in Hudson.

There are hundreds of items that are to be sought, from the likes of you to be brought and bought. And the varied precision of what is desired for them to buy is impressive. Premier Gold, Silver and Coin, the sponsor, asks the big question: “Do you have any of these items?”

Many prized are coins, foreign and domestic, graded and commentative, but there are also to be, fine precious metals, jewelry whether new or broken, stuff for sports fans, Pokemon, timepieces, vintage musical instruments, antique toys, comic books, war pieces, even Zippo lighters, pocket knives, rings and more!

— This also is a walk down memory lane, maybe sung by The Memories. Actually it was a Packer Backer song that caught on that I also wrote about. But this time it’s two Old School townies I hadn’t encountered for a while, but now are making it new again. Fizz Kizer is back at Johnnies Bar in River Falls all afternoon today (Saturday), with his new CD release show to Travelin’ On My Mind, (maybe he’ll hit Minneapolis?) There is an opening set by another local I’ve known from past days, Rudy Rudesill, (love that last name as a band name), as Johnnies now has a full three musical acts in two days, as they started with Friday. They are doing their part in recent months to bring live music back, by hosting bands.

Ziggy’s Hudson is too, apparently as in the word around town — which is bolstered by the fact that they are again doing a redo, this time of not only the front-side patio, but by painting in off-white the entire facade that had not been done before — covering up with not only cover bands but also the basic but cool original red brick. But if you should stay and go now with Old School music, you’d think that the original siding-less walls would be kept as is. Unless the new owners are truly trying to make this old place their own, and distance themselves from predecessors, though the color of the outside wall is a pretty “transparent” way to do it. —

Gotta love the kinds of coins: Morgan dollar, Barber coins, walking (literally shown) liberty half-dollar, wheat pennies, Mercury dimes, and again more. Two cent pieces, three pieces and half times. To say No Quarter would not be at all accurate. Just, maybe, not four centers, as that would be pushing it. But you never know …

Add to it currency, some of it fractional, coins from Austria, (so again think Sound of Music, if you have goods from that era), cast iron and wooden toys, silver and bronze age comics, daggers and swords, belt buckles and ammo belts, you get the picture.

This free buying event runs for five days and is open to the public. Premier Gold, Silver and Coin, the sponsor, asks the big question: “Do you have any of these items?”

It is at the Holiday Inn and Express in Hudson, for again, five days, beginning Tuesday, Nov. 11 starting at 10 a.m. and generally running until about 6 p.m. So worth the drive from the Twin Cities.

Another event, this time invitation only, is well worth noting. Last year, I sat in with a friend to learn about an event we will likely not take in jointly, a funeral and this was the dyed-in-the-wool Catholic home that may be servicing it. This season of this year, for dying, mid-November just past late October, and before the gift-card-giving season, (see below) you could bring up to three guests, and I don’t know how that fits, unless mom and dad have not passed and they want to come, and veterans receive special benefits for funerals and burials, but ONLY IF YOU LEARN HOW, their caps.

(To make the more donuts? To feed more guests, especially when they go beyond nibbling. No K, as in Circle K stores, as that also would be more like Kibbles and Bits. Feed bowser too, foregoing your browser. Add that and it would require a second gift card.)

If that promo info was not enough of a draw for us, and to be repeated the next day, the advertised refreshments were out of this world, even if only several full plates of elaborate donuts of countless varieties. Some holed, some whole, some not, some two, glazed and frosted, and sugered and powdered. There was also a chance to win a gift card for gas back home and more. My friend silently prayed to win it, as the tank amount we had could have had a better rank. I simply prayed that the person in greatest need would get gassed.

Turns out it may have been both. My friend, at the end, after they made us wait a bit, (make the donuts?) opened her little envelope and the quickly treasured card was found inside. She paused, then prayed thanks, as did I, as there were several Kwik Trip convience stores to be found along the two in town, then four lanes back toward The Cities.

Call them the Fantastic Four or maybe Five, either singles or duos or groups of people, interacting as one, during the three days of Halloween, perhaps as even toxic waste cleanup, futuristic super agents.

Here went the last ride of those in costume.

I have to start with this bit of conversation. A man, Wolfie he was, walked past me along the walkway, not all but just part of it, and cast upon me his paws, both of them, and wiggled them showing not claws but his wriggly strips of fur in front of me.

Then walked by me. I guess he couldn’t take his eyes off the moon.

And after a turn, I ambled past him. He was followed by four others, one by one, with long and high ears and such. But I was howling even more, when recounting something to happen quite soon.

— What was happening as far as reaction in the day or two after the GOP election losses — as the donkeys kicked ass in a landslide of sweeps — meant that in talking-head-punditland, it was found that Trump put blame for the shutdown-shutout on the Dems and even members of his own party. The Repubs blame the Dems and the Dems blame the GOP, and they both blame the independents. Voters blame both parties, and Trump parties on by hosting victory/loss galas and social media flurries. And SNAP may be to blame, or those not certain to get it, and on the foul note that it is, you gotta gash Trump — this election was seen as a referendum on him even though he was on nary a ballot — as he goes around in what seems almost hourly flip-flopping court injunctions, and stays of injunctions, and blocks, and due judicial relief, and your mom says no for cutting back WIC, filed with certain states and non-profits and have-nots with pro bono, and backed bombastically and with attorneys by The Association for Non-Nutcaseness, (TAN) — like Melania, and I’m sure she will be visiting the booth and spa more now that she has won person of the year (lc not llc). The House blames the Senate, so to speak, and they have not even shown up yet. Even the DOJ weighs in just. Department heads, like that of war too, on how much their generals should weigh. And stand tall to what height they should push the podium as they give in mantra-lockstep their many depositions. And of course the worst chagrin falls on Muslims and women, or both, and (winning) candidates and beware, not by any means Communist camaraderie, Democratic socialists leaning. Battle lines drawn in the Big Apple and in the ongoing redistricting fights. Gosh, the GOP and Govs and PROP 50. The appeals and high courts and SCOTUS, whatever that is. And challenges and recounts to all of the above. Right up until midterms. And then it all happens again. —

I encountered the furry group, feet and hands and ears, again, at a bar around the corner. Each passed the other. Paws were exchanged again.

I approached them once more, back bar, and said to another of them, on the left, I’ve seldom seen so many creatures with such large ears. Or something like that.

The reindeer on the right, who by the way looked very cool with that red encircled cross on her forehead, responded, “these are antlers.” And you better get it right, and not say it with the wrong and vulgar term, because I have big ears.

“Ouch,” I responded. “Because I have Tourette’s.”

As do I, she said.

I laughed, and added actually, I do have it.

She said she did not, but two very good friends do.

And ADHD. I have it. Do they?

She respondly simply that she does.

This followed with a conversation on the nuances that go along with ADHD. Such as bonding with certain people intensely. Such as those who have large ears and large antlers who you meet at the bar?

Last to enter the bar was a red winged Victoria’s Secret modeless, and this wannabe who I know, did it justice, and one better. I told her so.

She smiled also.

Coming to her next was the bar man, who also knew the lass, and referred to her as a fallen angel, who was plying her trade in a better, bar-side way.

Outside the bar was a supergirl maiden with bra and cape, red again, that reached almost to her ankles. I told her it was the biggest I had seen.

“Thanks, is it really? It keeps me warm.”

Inside the bar down the street, I saw two people who definitely were not red. But well-read, as they were superheros. Dressed all in silver. Either that or some sort of toxic waste cleanup, futuristic super agents.

(In a likewise item, this could be that superlative/relative spy I referred to in the headline, who was a do-gooder and even a related third party who helped a little old lady negotiate the municipal waste disposal system — various cities and counties and towns of which you are a resident — and find a place, more than once, where she could “dump/recycle” a whole bunch of old paint cans, from two different basements, completely filling one, as well as a big-old-wrought-iron-bent-like-a-Halloween-noose-rod-to-house-a-squirrel-baffle. With three prongs, no less. And as far as where the waste, you could maybe add village, too. To top it, they went shoe shopping afterward.)

Back to the Halloween-custom-costumed super-spies, this time, I did not approach them.

Halloween can be orchestrated and celebrated in many fashions that go beyond overtly primpy dress-ups and decked-out pumpkins.

And thus it was. Again indeed. So let it now be written. So let it be done. Taking in church, too. And a less-is-more foodish and not foolishness-based party, with what grub they still have left, based on bare-bones basics, such as some great, sweet potato pie. So they can still have a celebration. More on that later. Also, we’re waiting on certain updates.

But first the prelude, pre-Halloween eve, before the sun was set to set, about what was worn. And seen about town, in many haunts beyond the typical for Halloween.

Had to get some candy, mid-afternoon, although I’ve never had a trick or treater in my recent-years digs. So I made it barely one bag, but when I was checking out, I ran into a clerk bouncing through the bar-code (just one) who could of been a bunny or brown bear. With those big ears to kill.

Even though she momentarily looked miffed about being maxed out — as mountains of late-goers like me were getting their goods — which mammal was she, I asked her.

She smiled a bit, and said she could go with either. When a customer asked, then made a suggestion, could she be even a third or fourth kind of furry animal, she would just smile again — with ear twitch — and agree with their assumption.

On the way out, feeling conspicuous with my one unbagged brownie-equivalent in hand, and maybe that’s what inspired his comment despite the spirit of Halloween, I happened by a man with death mask dressed all in black, some of it dripping with strings. I made note of this.

“What are you looking at?”

I told him my eyes were fixed on his outfit, and the stuff affixed. He was OK with that.

“I’m assuming it’s a costume,” I noted. “These days you never know.” He laughed a bit and was OK with that, too, adding a yes about his dress.

Back going home up the street, I saw a little girl in a princess outfit, with one seemless garment, with a tiara on top and frills at the bottom. She was with mommy and daddy and they passed the bike shop, where the sign talked about trikes and mountain bikes, and got into The Smilin’ Moose even though it was happy hour. They still, though, had kiddie food. And kiddie cocktails.

Back at the ranch, apartment actually, no cowpokes or calves, there were more of other kiddies, a few different times, roaming the halls, even though I’d never seen one here on Halloween before. I heard them go dashing past the door, though they didn’t knock. So the candy went for naught. I will see some of them at a later time, in the hall, so I’ll give it then. I’d just better have it handy.

Then …

Halloween eve is followed with a second night of costumed revelry, at least for those being out there by going out, ending about the time the clock doth turn for the goth, and toll for all of us. This is also All Saints Day, which is followed, for those saintly enough to follow along in sheer solemnity for a second day of church, the largely syllabally similar All Souls Day. They all are said, Roman Catholically, to on one day or the next commemorate (or face the cannon) all the dear saints passed through Heaven’s gates, both martyred and canonized and uncanonized, or pray for the souls of those faithful departed, especially those in purgatory, (and those are the ones likely to party it up while out in non-angel costume and not be in church, and note the Hell’s Angels are not mentioned), and both days honor the dead but have distinct purposes, (like ghosts are different from goblins), and the first is a celebration of holiness and a holy day of obligation, (for Catholics who are not ghouls), and All Souls Day is seen as a more personal day of remembrance for one’s own loved ones, though must go since it is a Sunday … That’s a mouthful.

But now to more on those who are not as holy, and not wholly dead but zombies. As in that group of mostly older women (be they witches?) who had gathered for an EBT party, to use up the last of their SNAP dollars, ranging from one to what little was left of 175.

I know the host, and as a vegetarian she can make even the greenest of veggies go great as a candy-like treat. But none were in costume, as old witches or otherwise, although I’m sure there was plenty of wise laughter, and I won’t call it cackling.  I had to ask if anyone at least donned a fake nose.

“Nope. Nope. We were all regular.”

That’s pretty good for a bunch of could-be-called old hags!

The telltale take-away-terror event with heart. Or brain. Let’s make mental health less scary, or so goes it, as this is as an overused term, a resources fair of fare, with speakers too as is fair.

It’s for the whole family, with the usual eats, three of them as in the devil’s triad, and does it by use of (ghostly) skeletons. OK more like the more bland (sometimes ghostly colored) pumpkins. And not from an asylum. This is not One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. But devoted to a demon’s lair, as is fair?

As in (not scary) costumes encouraged.

So go on this day/night/weekend/weekday? Actually, Wednesday, Oct. 29, just prior to sundown, much less the witching hour. OK actually 3:30 to 7 p.m. And at Lakefront Park, where they will not be drowning witches. In the more comfortable and cozy confines of the bandshell.

Setting next-to the flyer is a set of Halloween coloring books for the kiddos, complete with ‘dem bones, on front. (More with a witch making brew just “put down,” as in on the countertop, OK laugh, this is Halloween.)

Come Friday, two days after the previous fact, it’s dress-up for cash. Over $1,000 in costume contest prizes is offered at the Smilin’ Moose — on their only one night of the two that have speciality beverage specials — my guess is that “over” means $1,005.

Their several drink and shot varieties differ by the night, Friday vs. Saturday, and they are all $4. But wait a minute, there is that one for $3. (They include Tootsie pop shots, they made us capitalize the first word, and witch’s blood, use apostrophe, not beer or brew except with this being Wisconsin, within designated wards in the city of Hudson.) Show up to find out what that one will save you a buck, (with deer, thanks to the guy near Trout Brook going hunting on Halloween as the height of the deer-gun season looms, they made us use or they’ll sue without using notice the use of an unused ensuing mispelling, the dash, or face the lash), and we’re not telling you which night, and maybe, depending, win some “killer” costume contest loot to boot to add to your savings/earnings.

Many more imbibe specials to lessen your angst, in such a range, are legion (minus Roman bad doings to people) at Hudson Tap and Wild Badger at the appointed time. And there of course are the other costume contests around town, most likely Friday as that is the appointed 31st, at places like Dick’s bar and grill, (this time we’ll name a total prize value, that’s what we’ll call it, $625), where they bar none. And more than one New Richmond haunt, same east side of the same block or two, will feature karaoke, as this is a Friday night. Maybe followed by Saturday, or even Sunday afternoon, too.

Last, she is said to be a “local chick.” (And on the same “web,” Charlotte, a harlot if in early Iron Maiden mode, it is noted that there is more to a Hudson Halloween Trick or Treat then Third Street, although that’s the one that struts like a KISS costume, and see their In Time band, full makeup era, of their own The Eras Tour, at Big Guys BBQ Road-haus as they close Oktoberfest. They indeed were mentioned by the guy, while he was driving, who is going hunting not haunting. And there is a free artisan fundraiser treat that will have you in “knots” on the south end of Third. Not to add the “auxiliary” Locust Street trick, early Thursday evening, situated as far as location and date between the Wednesday and Friday affairs.)

Thus, the championed chick, Planet McKenna does her Follow The Signs video, showing signs of the season by having her face shrouded in near darkness, then later in the video having it shine more brightly, along with black-hosed legs.

Then. Next. The band Evolve, dragon prominent, talks about devolving in their hymn The Browning. But then I found I could not turn off the online ever-evolving tunes. Too much metal. That could be heaven or hell. On and on.

It is that time of year again — all through the month (October) prior to All Hallows Eve and especially if you are a Celt or some kinda creature, celebrate! With many a big inflatable spectacular spook and even more smaller signs on businesses, making light of those who have passed in the night.

And many an event to mark those days!

The official season set off with a bang in Hudson, sorta as this prior event was for the little kiddies and had that kinda boring trick or treating vibe, as the Rotary Clubs, largely it seems a bunch of old guys sitting around a group of coffee tables, had their gotta-be-a-child-or-parent-or guardian-or-significant-other costume parade last week.

What follows is for the rest of us.

Rivertown Tattoo in the downtown of Hudson and on the east and south side, and that might be the scary side(s) and see later on about that, is having their grand opening — thus blatant plug — on Saturday, Oct. 25 through most of the evening and before and aft, with their own costume contest, and prizes, and even super cheap flash tattoos. Go and attend and see what that encompasses, and is that a sorta evil word?

— Some people out on a promising pre-Halloween Friday night-out in downtown Hudson looked a bit flapper familiar, and then it became known that it was either pre- or post-prohibition night party time — either will work — originating from The Bluffline Caves, as long as it is not based on inhibition.

Meanwhile, as I again saw crews of workers removing late night trash from the back of the riverside Pier 500 restaurant, while walking down the alleyway, it was a reminder why we’ve had so much ICE in our town. So many such frost-gathering big restaurantier types in our now bustling, former sleep old river town.

Meanwhile, over in New Richmond’s downtown scene, to be seen were a power trio of skeletons in an electronics store, with electric tape a depiction of such spooky little girls like you, in storefront windows. One more, a graveyard scene in a fast-food window that was a legitimate, painting-style, work of art, drawn as a gray sketching.

Back to the Beginning, with the fitting amount or dose of adrenaline, or should I say Adderall, it just seemed fitting that I would go home and immediately review the song Ace Of Spades. —

And there will be a band playing on, and they just sound creepy, The Grim Lot. Is that hinging on death metal? Anyway, when I get through with my daylight-being-a-vampire siesta or such, I will likely put more of their bio at the end on this article.

The after-party is down a block or two at Ziggy’s, and that is where we bring in the scary side of street debate. More to the point, I have/had been looking for space to insert (another scary word?) a story to chill the bone, about a thing that I heard, many years ago. The bartender behind that very bar, before they were a music club, became a friend of mine and told me he’d lived with some buddies up nord in Duluth, when he was going to THAT college, in a house at which many decades ago — and this by the way is nothing to joke about — there had lived at least one of the men who had suffered a very premature death. That was when in an event that is well known but should be even more well known, especially the way things are going these days, he being black was one of those who’d been the victim of a very famous lynching. One of the more prominent ones you hear of in that vernacular. So by the way, may he rest in peace, and I wish his time on earth had been longer and more pleasant.

Anyway, word has it that the ghost of this man, and maybe another or two, still lingered in the house when the bartender had lived there, and there were occasionally some strange goings on …

I at one point told this story to my mom, and she scoffed. But another one who believes in these types of things and had been a co-worker and by the way had once walked through a  very scary graveyard, and still slaves away at a bar up and across the street, told me a very similar story the other day about another ghost said to be one of the many who haunt many a venue downtown.

Mom did point out — I think it was she — that there is a Lutheran church in her neighborhood that was having a celebration of both All Souls and All Saints days on the same night, right associated with Halloween. Now how Celt is that …

But again anyway, this is a way to recycle that which started a month before Halloween to lead up to our current hallowed haunts.

We are talking dinosaurish skeletons riding bicycles at the bike shop just down from where I live. One of the boney creatures at that store that just happens to have a couple of cats creeping around and sleeping near the window and drawing gazes from passersby, looks pretty pre-Cambrian on its crotch rocket, as in a very toothy tiger as in saber. Is it any coincidence that one of the poor kiddies has not been seen for a while, and I miss her, and wonder if she has left this world? And maybe now reappeared?

And now finally appears that bio for The Grim Lot, which I say is eclectic in the best possible way, with great variety in their shows and who they play with and their styles, and one of the singers often exudes Beetlejuice vibes in a visual way, fitting for this holiday. I’ll let them say it: “Grim Lot is a six piece alternative rock band based in Minneapolis, Minnesota. They play a brand of dark, experimental music rooted in and eschewing tradition. Familiar, yet completely their own.

“Featuring ex-members of Dead Bundy (cool as in cold) and The Neat Neat Neats, The Drug Budget, Vernon Wayne, Reaping Asmodeia, and Ghost Bath, (cool again), the band played their first shows in late 2023.

“In 2024 the band hit the ground running with plans to release new music every month, and a full calendar of live performances.” Not your usual Hudson music.

Awash amidst the afterglow of the tattoo shop grand opening, as the ribbon cutting was at 11 a.m., there were mad monastical medievel-style monks, mostly, running amok in the downtown and mingling, as the last main prelude to Halloween itself.

Rather than stressing its waning peaceful remnants, all last Saturday afternoon in the heart of downtown Minneapolis at a No Kings rally, they grabbed the monarch by the balls and eventually ripped them off.

Like not a human being. Like the Sex Pistols. Attacked worse then the queen.

So this will be a straight first reaction, except for the Hudson rallies on Second Street that were barely a mini-warmup by comparison, although attracting as many as 50 people at many of their Moral Mondays and their own earlier No Kings protests. With all kinds of honks of approval, and very few a Fuck You.

The bottom line: There ended up being I would guess between 50,000 and 100,000 protesters there, (amongst millions country-wide), who slowly boiled and went from being Minnesota Nice to all-out angry.

— A Perfect 10, twice? For a limited time at Buffalo Wild Wings locations, you can get a big signature stein of beer, we’re assured the great genuinely German kind — across countries — of a name brand for $10! Oktoberfest in America. And while there, you can grab an ultimate platter of 10 total snacks — five pieces of one meaty (not necessarily cheesy) kind and four of another and throw in one more to boot — for just a bit more money.

And new at Arby’s by the way, (and also a version at Wild Badger and other area locations), grab a set of steak nuggets, not just the chicken kind, which is not as boring as those BOGO boneless wings! Wonder how many of these usually higher priced nuggets make a platter. —

And there was not even a small counter protest to be seen, as I peered around the big park (and way beyond) and tried to perceive even the most tiny. I may have missed a small scrum, but I doubt it. There was that smallish group on a sidestreet, but they could have been among the ones directed there and still anti-fascist, because of need, because of the swelling size of the crowd.

Where do I stand among them? May these phrases be an indicator, basically a disclaimer to all, friend or foe, who read much farther, (is that basically a triple negative or more accurately use of the Devil’s Tri-tone? Definitely not the Trinitarian.) This shows where my lashed loyalties lie.

Fuck Trump. Not just jump or dump him.

Or, God Bless the king. He ain’t no human being.

All these truths, that can be so clearly understood, simply require people to a-line the dots, reading between them to connect them. All those tens of thousands of signs said it all.

Based on what I experienced Saturday, we must continue to fight evil with more evil, in a good way. A new moral majority, and this time even accurate.

Or, I fear we’ll soon have marching, and rioting and blood in the streets, like even the ’60s didn’t see. Gimme Shelter times two, or three. Against the Helter Skelter.

Noteworthy on Saturday was the almost-encounter with the one, and the only one, MAGA man I saw, who said he was running for governor (scary) and walked along the front of a line of protestors for the good, with his screaming rant to them becoming more and more loud and violent as they continued to encounter his rank-and-file very vile behavior by basically killing him with kindness. Ignoring him, for now — and he thus grew even more chaotic without any charisims — until the next debate, with the guy next to you or shouting to a crowd, or on a debate stand. We were all asked from the mic stand to reach out to five others, preferably afterwards, and tell them why we went to this rally, five things about it.

We must still bludgeon them not with bullets, but with the basics of logic. Dumb down the dumb with rational debate. Note on these following pages the difference in demeanor between the two sides.

Before we even started marching along, going down those several what seemed either very long or very short blocks, with the crowd swelling, it became apparent in plain view the size of our crowd. It went way beyond the big park for which there was cited-by-sign, a permit needed for any event with more than 50 people. I guess that was us many hundreds of times over. Even before the event started, there were people as far as the eye could see from all sides from our front-diamond view, like looking at a baseball field including what was beyond the foul lines from the corner that is home plate, such a sea of protesters you could not see the horizon behind us. In any direction.

At first there were relatively few people beginning to congregate. This was around 11:30 a.m. The speakers didn’t start until 1 p.m. In between there was music piped in, including even some Prince, (see related story soon on a concert for him and a comedy show, both held two nights earlier.) The helicopters grew more and more of a presence in the sky as the affair went on, but the signs of a police presence were few, except for a lone cop as we parked, and until the marchers going home needed a bit of direction. I don’t know how many blocks the marchers went, as we decided to quit before they did.

Early on, I had stood with arms crossed in my I’m-passing-time mode at streetside, with few people beside me, wearing my yellow protest-in-union-with-other-countries-fighting-dictators shirt, and someone came up to me and asked politely, “excuse me but are you a marshal?” I replied, “no I’m just waiting for my wife, but that’s much the same,” and we both chuckled lightly.

The day went on and the humor and overall tone became darker. Well-spoken profanity on the very, very creative signs was everywhere on the political slogans. I saw a woman dressed up as The Statue of Liberty, (I think she had a sign too), was marching around attracting attention. and I wanted to say to her, “good to see you Lady Liberty, I thought you were dead.” But she weaved through the crowd, fore and aft, then finally sauntered the other direction.

The topics and subtopics on the signs numbered in the hundreds. The shouting in the call-and-response to the speaker or singer grew louder and a little bit angrier, although calm was maintained in an odd accommodation. In contrast to a concert, not even any near body-painted nudity. No one agitated with anyone, and that includes the above MAGA moron. Even a man who for some reason appeared angered by a quip I made, merely turned and looked the other way and continued his protesting business.

The most creative of the signs were the non-signs, purposely made not to say anything new but make it new by saying nothing. Nowhere fancy words or slogans, and as derivative as just Dump Trump.

I ran past one Minnesota person, like I had done to an organizer at a Hudson rally, who was organizing a political song list, the lines to Metallica’s Sad But True, which came out in an election year: “Hey, I’m your life/I’m the one who takes you there/I’m your life/I’m the one who cares” then later, “I’m the one who took you there … And I no longer care.”

The after party

The next night at home, I couldn’t help but notice while watching footage of a pro-shot metal concert filmed in of all places in front of German fans, the subtle slap in the face that was given to facism. The band started their encore with the war song Aces High, with the frontman replacing his typically worn  German-American-style helmet with British-flyer headgear and eloquently singing about the English-led end of the Blitzkrieg. Everyone in the crowd knew what was coming when they heard the intro — a recording of a soon famous Winston Churchill speech. The crowd seemed a bit hush, overall, during the call-and-response, “live to fly/fly to live/aces high.” So immediately after that first encore song, where a silly, floppy birthday hat with candles was given to their longtime drummer, the frontman asked those who hadn’t sung a few moments earlier to please join in, participate in the singing of Happy Birthday. Next up for Iron Maiden, the band at hand, was The Evil That Men Do (lives on and on) and their final encore was Sanctuary (from the law). Both are not usual encores in their set list, and Aces High was in an atypical position. Still more Maiden altering their set list because of topical matters across country and world.

I don’t know if all this anti-Nazi symbolism was intentionally orchestrated, or if I am reading too much into it.

Or could it be like a presenter at the rally, who referred to Charlie KKK Kirk as such, a sentiment to which I’d concur, and maybe even on my sign find a way to incorporate yet another K. (One other person at the event spelled on his sign the name Carlie.)

The words fuck, Trump, King and ICE were each used thousands of times.

And about Trump being a hardass in negotiating, it worked, once or twice. But look how well the truce he bartered in the Middle East is going.

Let’s hold up on the Nobel Peace Prize talk, and wait for the bombings to quit for at the very least a few months. These guys can’t even handle a few days.

So, Trump complains that the press headlines are largely against him. His cited in various speeches 97 percent, as it approaches 98 percent and counting. Why? For cause. The process is due.

Think and plan big. Then go small. Thursday, all through the business day, marks another small business crawl through downtown Hudson, with an evening after-party at Ziggy’s music club. There are dozens and dozens of businesses residing in these parts, in almost that many different sub-categories. My main take on all these types is listed below.

Here is a suggested day planner: We start with my sponsors for this piece, since as far as investment in their concept and its creation and continuation, they have put their money where their mouth is, thus showing true professionalism — which they also bring to selling their product or service.

So start your trek with a sandwich, very inexpensive so you’ll have more dough to spread around for later, to provide sustenance for going around the blocks, at HudCo To-Go. Then go next door and pick up a remembrance at the all-gift-items-you-need shop, Beloved Makers. You could do worse than to do the same with the nick-knacks at Micklesen Drug Store. And get a rose or great floral arrangement by any name, for further reliving of the day’s events, with your special someone, at Hudson Flower Shop. Help support the planet and even its greenery at the ultimate fair-trade store with a big heart, The Purple Tree. But back to honoring your special someone, the Jeweler’s Bench makes even makes their own pieces, so think what you can do with that, and get something for your pet also, at Angel’s Pet World. And top off your experience with evening wear for the next time around, for him at St. Croix Provisions and her at Rue Marche. Fuel for your ride home at the Sub House, hearty fare for less.

— This Saturday, at two hour bookends around the noon hour, is a Scandinavian Food Fest that reads like a Swedish music set list, serving not only lefse (obligatory) but sandbakkets, falligmann, krumkaka, rommegrot and ruttlepolse, and partway there with limpe bread not biscuit. You almost expect a full set by the a cappella folk band Metalklapa. (Bosnian, but hey, still European.)

A guy posted online that he had caught his (sic) punpkin smasher on camera, and it was a deer. Slaying this dreaded vandal brings to mind a whole slew of specials I saw listed for Fleet Farm starting at the end of September and going mongo with hunting and more gear, such as firearms to shoot, trailers to haul, decoys to catch and tens to sit in. —

.And if you have any time left, housed in the same building, chill out at High North Dispensary, then get something snacky at The Lotus Creamery. There’s even Johnson’s Body Shop, if your car rattled a bit while getting here, or peddle an alt-ride at the bike shop, and add a couple of convenience stores.

Whew. That’s a lot. But there’s more, although not all are official participants in the actual organized event. But still with cool stuff.

The first several businesses that are listed, will also help preside over the Trick Or Treat on Locust Street, on the day before Halloween — especially well-timed this year, by the luck of the draw — from 4-7 p.m. Also on a Thursday.

But here is the promised categorization, showing all you can do on the small business crawl, finding virtually everything you might need in just a few block area. This is more like a month’s worth of shopping, not a day, but squeeze in as much as you can.

Barber shops and beauty salons and spas, antiques and gift shops and curiosities places, dresses and shoes and coats, restaurants and cafes and delis, bars and music and dancing nightclubs, tattoo venues and eyewear and exams, distillery and craft brewery and liquor stores, old and newer book sellers and gaming and a library, wellness shops and fitness and travel destination booking, candy and bakery and artisan bread makers, and various other retail outlets.

Add to that, in the same several-block-area, banks and law offices and legal services, professional buildings and apartments and condos, dental and fraternal services and construction, and computers and technology.

And of course, at the end where your trek started, the Hudson Area Chamber of Commerce and Tourism Bureau.

That’s all folks, but it’s plenty.

I happened to see, for show in more ways than one, the WNBA draft on sports bar basic TV — wouldn’t normally tune into this league’s picking of players — and star guard Kaitlyn Clark was shown bare midriff with a fully unbuttoned and flared out, long sleeve shirt, oddly being a baring look that decades ago was championed by a friend of mine. All the taller, long-torso centers sported not trophies — although they could have been trophy wives — but decidedly cleavage-showing, plunging neckline “jerseys” at this gaudy affair.

To me, it is a killer to society that players at the level of Clark would be expected to dress up, or down, in such a way to get the same respect, and viewership, as their male colleagues.

— See you at the Lodge, and we can do some upped-tempo lounging. Moody Blues bassist John Lodge — not to be confused with Deep Purple keyboardist John Lord — may not be a household name to most, but even my friend Tom, and who doesn’t exactly listen to his music choices across many genres, made mention of the musician’s recent death as the first thing from his lips when I met up with him at a sports bar over the weekend. The number of prominent people with demise in such a realm sure is not dwindling, unfortunately.

No need to wait for Halloween for a chili-like, holy-noodle-chomp at church, however.

While many have post-pandemic quit having free or for usually-small donation regularly slated meals, such as on a certain time each month, at a small Burkhardt church it is still cooking.

A key is to keep things open, even if in any small way, as far as various charitable events go, and value this tradition, to allow the events to stay being held.

There was surprise at this news of such events often going away, according to both a man and woman who were encountered when volunteers at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, but are originally from Redeemer Lutheran on Scott Road.

The annual chili supper at hand, noodles or nary, with pie for dessert, is on Thursday on Oct. 16 from 4:30 to 6:30 p.m. Also on tap, in much the same way and early in October announced, is a Trunk or Treat event along with spaghetti supper on Oct. 29 from 6-8 p.m. at Faith Community Church on Paperjack Drive in nearby New Richmond. Games too, and pillows gathered for Grace Place. —

The latest shit hitting the fan, as far as fans, since the WNBA finals are upon us — bringing with them controversy about their sports being what I’ll say is undervalued by the quality of the leadership and officiating — is the scores of sex toys taken out of the attic and men’s garages, and thrown out on the floor of the mid-court. This was done during the regular season, but the senseless and inappropriate action sticks with me.

Much similar, is in the Islamic world where women are required to wear veils. I have seen some even here in Hudson who looked quite beautiful in their burkas, but it should be their choice whether to follow this tradition, not have it be dictated to them by men.

In modern music, the stereotypical roles are even more pronounced. Dance music and rap, sometimes become somewhat vacuous, sorry to say, take the cake for babes to be expected to strut with their booty out. (Eating that cake might expand your booty, but on the other hand it does not quite keep up with the Joneses, hello lusciously Liz by that name, as far as the antithesis, but a thin middle too with the brains.) The main trend, much like at a metal concert, where all the young women have on vague dresses with their tight but short leather mini-skirts up to their crotch. As a man when at such concerts, I both love it and hate for its sexism this such dress-not-to-dress “tradition.” But at least the intelligent lyrics offered a counterpoint.

But some women turn it on its ear and use it to rock. Think Amy Lee of Evanescence, who I think that despite the criticism of bringing her into the male-oriented band is really the one we really to hear — and see as she is stunning in videos. Then bring on Floor Jansen of Nightwish. These women just exude sexuality and they are in control, and they rule, so good for them. It is when seeing both of them extend a grip over the audience like a Viking warrior princess — OK that has been said before by others like me — that I felt better about a previous journalistic stance.

I had written a review of OzzFest, and had been told, and put it in print, a claim by a male fan (before he passed out?) that he had after the concert been part of an orgy of six people in the same bed — including Amy Lee. This passage was left on the cutting room floor literally, when struck by my editor. He that myself and The Man were joking with the claim.

After in a more current time, when seeing both of these women individually take total command of the stage, and the men in the audience, I felt better about my original idea about the struck phrase that such a comment was almost a compliment, adding to their credentials as rockers.

OK, music put aside, here is women’s sports vs. men’s sports summarized. Women’s soccer is, let’s be honest, interesting but somewhat less so, and it shows in ratings and, sadly, pay equity. The goalies don’t seemingly fly as quickly or as far. The strikers are not as fast or powerful when getting their kicks. So unless you’re Brandy Chastaine, and shouldn’t she be able to whip off her shirt in a time of triumph, just like a man? Doesn’t that sell? And has been widely and accurately said, how is a sports bra so much different in its acceptability, in showing off in public besides at a beach, than a bikini top. If anything another inch or two of fabric, anyway. Just watch out for a foot.
And hey, invoke A League Of Their Own. Can’t (soccer) match Madonna. And can’t we be just as satisfied with an 83 mph fastball, if it is well placed right on the corner? Pitch-worthy in general, it’s less about speed, and more about movement of the ball, so there! Does this too speak more to our culture, of excess? And just total admiration, but only for the ultimate? Jordan or Lebron get perks few others would even barely appromixate. A fastball has to race at 100 mph, then reach 101 and then 102. Wasn’t Nolan Ryan just as fascinating, give or take a degree or three? And he was doing it, less a mph or two, in his late 30s. But hey, my God, Wheelchair Olympics would even have to fight to get airtime on local cable access.
There is more of two other womans’ sports shown on TV, even at national cable and its ilk level. I find it stunning as far as stamina shown, when softball pitcher can chuck even when underhand both the ends of a doubleheader, as the way they are physically built, the arms of the “fairer sex” can make that movement much better than men. But as far as the WNBA, a lot of layups — before the league started evolving to jump over and past knuckle-dragging men — that should be easy could just as easily become a rolling-around-the-rim adventure. Why, aside from the fact that men jump higher? They also can often be seven feet tall, many inches above the average woman even if she is a center. The less the distance between you and the backboard the better. And you don’t see many guys plunking even a bit when doing a dunk.
But yes, sometimes women athletes have it over men, relatively. In sports where flexibility trumps power. Aren’t too many guys — and not to diss them in a reverse discrimination as they flip their own thing quite well as well — doing what the gals can do in the floor exercise, and other forms of gymnastics. The fascination goes well beyond their skinny butts; they are great athletes. And if you are Olivia Dunn and her somewhat sexually saucy social media pix, fine.
But now yesterday’s news? Still, the intrigue of competition is finally goes both those directions. So guys, double your viewing pleasure? Hey if it works for her, WNBA goddesses, with both their looks and their shots, and it obviously does, great. Beyond what words can speak, if it is their free choice. (And Clark maybe even over Curry rules from far beyond-three-point land.)
So, here are even more words. Unlike some men, who are I’m assuming insecure and thus threatened, I absolutely love it when women take control of their (own) sexuality. I never wanted to be with just that pretty little thing who sits in the corner and smiles. Although I have that too. (Minus the sits in a corner. Instead leans back and thus forward, with her gaze, and takes control of the room like the stage). I know intensely such beautiful brainiacs, and my life is so much the richer for it. And I have never felt any anxiety over the assertive-woman messages on the cover of Cosmo. And I think the main most flamboyantly brilliant and highlight amongst killer lyrics — though understated and it didn’t have to be more — line in Alanis Morrissette’s song You Oughta Know, was that famous phrase with the F word. Great I say, to see that in our culture, finally, a woman can get away with saying such. (And Alanis looks great in that video’s dress. Show him what he can’t have.) The difference: Great lyrics, not just shake your booty.

And yes, the rub, this was written decades ago, when there still was quality songwriting across genres.

I have to give a great, gargantuan, big round of applause — not fire or firing — to the commander in chief, and for once finishing what he had started a few months ago.

Let’s hope we can check this off, for once and for all, in that rare, promises kept box. The apparent “grand slam” coming almost to the day of the start of the playoffs for baseball’s World Series.

The war between Israel and Hamas has been declared to be over. All hostages were said to be soon on their way home. That was quickly amended to happening on Monday, and before that a ceasefire.

— Moving a tad north, (bass tab?), longtime area musician Phil Kitze and his band The Resonators are holding a CD release party at Big Guys BBQ Roadhouse between Hudson and Houlton on Friday evening, Oct. 10. Resonators, is that like The Regulator, a bass-driven-voiced song by the hard rock group Clutch, that is replicated by singing in the Firewater Gospel Choir. Their recent performances, toned down sound, drew rave reviews.

And now in the here and now, we have college football game day. And more important here, the NFL. Why?

Two accompaniment specials to make note of. At The Wild Badger in New Richmond, buckets of five beers and also drinks and such, going for $15 to $25, depending on the variety. And going crosstown to Ras on Main in Hammond, two-for-ones every time the Packers or Vikes score a touchdown, plus halftime prizes. If they are playing each other, and the final is like 45-40, look out. Count on the Vikings to get shutout and save the sobriety day!

On this day there is a major art crawl in Hudson, plus great weather for the semi-annual Frost Your Nuts motorcycle run. So they are melting. Also, the streets of Hudson are ablaze with cool traffic and also cranked tunes galore. And the bikers accommodated those on the crawl by making it a point to stop for pedestrians. “It’s the law,” one was overheard saying to the one kitty-corner behind him. —

Fantastic and other platitudes, have said I and most all others about the truce news. Trump is being given, and accepting, plenty of praise for brokering the deal and concerning the number of countries coming together to advance safety in the region and in most if not all of their countries, it’s said to be a feat that took some fancy footwork, and also said to need some details hammered out.

Said. Not signed. Qualifiers here. Let’s not move too fast with the peace announcement. I’m not sayin’ I’m just saying.

Remember, the plan that Trump helped forge has 20 phases, and there is only one of those that had been implemented at the end of the first day and night, and maybe that component was still sliding in. Trump and several other world leaders, proclaiming peace, were given the credit, so great credit goes to them. Like my grade school teacher/coach would always say about such people, “more power to you.”

Or a college prof, who said that the definition of power is the ability to get things done, and politics is the wielding of power. Like negotiating a truce amongst many parties, some aligned and others throwing in scores of agendas that vary based on political need. It’s not always as quick and easy as the even more unlikely, Christmas Truce one-day alleviation, by the stellar Swedish anti-war band Sabaton. That was in a hate-filled world war, and hey, we could have seen another one coming these days, and the eve-of-Christ’s-birth-break done in the fighting in the first one was just as improbable. 

For those losing out, in part, in this compromise, I invoke The Bullet Boys and their song, “Smooth up in ya.” (So made as palatable as possible, but this phrase encapsulates that the whole new deal still has question marks in its final follow-through and workability.) The song from the boys is back from close to the Reagan Era. Can we break you? “We won’t know until we try …”

But we won’t Take It Easy over such issues. Is the here-and-now end-of-war scenario, in older musical terms, to throw caution to the winds, Hell Bent for Leather, so Open Up I’m Climbing In?

So plunge into Where Eagles Dare.

To make this plan fly, like an eagle, to the Red (Sea), I’d offer this bold concession: Allow Hamas a seat or two at the governance table, sitting a distance behind the local technocrats that will be the ones mainly making the decisions. (Some of this could work out to carve up many parts when you Head East from the Meditteranian Sea, over to the Red Sea. Somewhat like they did with Germany after the world wars. Parts is parts in this high stakes game of chicken.)

This by way of my suggestion, would be my vital and final — do you believe it? — caveat: Their role would be strictly advisory, and perhaps to fill in anyone’s blankness of information or circumstance coming from their perspectives, when they have merit. So we don’t have all this war shit with them happen again. Blessed are the peacemakers, Trump says, as suddenly religion is at his forefront.

But now everyone has come together, with many platitudes, over Trump — so give him praise as the man knows how to use his sheer brute-based force, primarily, as negotiation to create a deal, as that is his art, very useful in power global politics — but this blowout of a game might still have an overtime.

Got the ball to the 43 yard line, and the ref places the football wrong for the next Snap? (Then he’s at some point overruled by the head official, like many of our appeals courts. Wrong 43 yard line? Canadian football fields can complicate measuring matters. So further court review. Right vs. left.)

The treaty calls for a geographic line to be placed over which withdrawn DEI troops will not cross — unlike jumping the war bunker and then charging into a barrage of bullets — but just where will that line be placed, in order to avoid the ease of any actor returning to warlike engagement? How far back is push-back?

What are further barriers to the treaty over which politicians will battle?

As far as the previous paragraph to the one before paragraph before that, (and it seems the treaty language is just as complicated), is there a firm guarantee Israel will now fully withdraw its soldiers and move far enough away? Or that Hamas will let go of the last of the hostages. They have not let go since the get go. It’s been a tremendous game of trying-not-to-get-fried chicken, with many chickens playing at once, that Trump seems to have won. Let’s hope so.

The original language of the deal was that hostages will be released “soon,” and we know what happens with Trump when things are left open-ended. Often it is a negotiating point, but … Remember when on the campaign trail, he promised he would end crucial wars such as this one on his day one in office. Don’t trust his words.

There are other points along this line that are very fine, but still exist.

Just agree to it and they will come, back to the table for further resolution. To sweat out the last minor details of the deal. That appears to still be the approach.

(The flip side)

The shutdown shows that everyone only looks out for their own. Ask the wife of a military servicesman who was rebuffed by Speaker Mike Johnson over a public request to reinstate pay that she said could take the lives of her young children.

So Trump will get no accolades here for his use of the stoppage. Just bite the bullet and come back into session, he says, and then we will work it out with the Democrats. Do you trust this, the way the man lies? Just like the situation where federal employees who have been furloughed, or worse yet ordered to work without pay, have been assured they will get the due back pay. To me that promise would have little more value than a single $1 coin with Trump’s likeness that will be minted. Maybe workers could get side jobs — or full-time? — carving Trump’s proposed and graven image on Mount Rushmore.

And when he made the great big ugly flub, one of many, when he got wrong the details of taking out bin laden and the redoubled, getting the countries wrong that — and remember this — he said he’d helped find a way to peace when they weren’t even at war, or far afield from each other, or maybe even in existence. So in total, a triple threat. The bin laden factor, concerning Biden and the GOP’s war waged about him mentally failing, when in fact Trump is flailing far worse. Maybe we should be calling him medical patient, not president.

So as far as Republicans in Congress, I’m going to double down. I in my last post referred the very tongue in cheek song by AC/DC about having Big Balls, for ballroom dancing and uhm otherwise, think midsection, and being totally Ballsy, like very many in the GOP, the further up the line, the more absurd: “Some balls are held for charity/and some for fancy dress …” Maybe Trump would host some of those balls, in his great big beautiful White House ballroom under construction. Better get that Biden infrastructure funding fast, while it’s still available.