The people at Table 65 Bistro, nearly smack dab in the heart of New Richmond, want you to know that in addition to hundreds of menu choices, they’ve found it best to offer breakfast beyond the basics too.
This not your typical coffee klatch. Although it’s served in a cozy and relaxed atmosphere, like you would expect, all in their venue that still has lots of room to sit, tucked away just off the main drag.
Thus the most important meal of the day, and served up as so, does not necessarily mean the ones occurring later in the day, although they have those too.
So this is the backbeat to the Bistro. It also caters to the night owls taking in the nightlife several blocks to the south who also become early-risers. (Because they have so many entrees in their bistro menu, in sheer numbers they utilize way more than the second and fourth beats of a backbeat. You also get everything between. Thus I’m drumming up this way to double your dining pleasure, by not missing a beet, as they have them sliced too.) And it’s not far from the New Richmond music and other entertainment zone. So if you’re from, say, the Twin Cities, and lodging overnight, you might want come for the music and stay for breakfast. Or eggs over easy for any other reason. Or lunch and brunch or dinner?
So treat your taste buds to a better breakfast, with lots of savory ingredients that go well beyond, and more of them in total on a single entree. For example, come dinner, you can even have portabella mushrooms with sliced beets, and all the rest of the fixins, as shown abundantly in the all-in omelet.
For those who just want to have a short-order pick-me-up for breakfast, maybe after getting up following a music-filled previous night, or just to complement their other dishes, there are sides available for between $1.75 and $4. And maybe they pair well alongside the maple compote for just $5, so you get to partake in a warmed apple, with raisin, craisin, walnut and all-out pure maple syrup.
Also, the breakfast panini wrap adds more bacon to the Italian sausage, mushroom, egg, spicy aioli and provolone cheese; the avocado BLT for breakfast gives bacon, as in Utecht’s brand, lettuce, over-easy egg, tomato and garlic aioli; Bourbon Street morning wrap boasts in addition andouille sausage, creole sauce and queso; another wrap also piles on ham, Swiss cheese, spinach to accompany balsamic glaze with tomato. The incorporation of sourdough, steak (on two different sides) and onion also is offered.

— There are also a bevy of beverages, both nonalcoholic and also non-virgin, and desserts of all types and this is why they also call themselves a gelato cafe. As in last night’s special on their sign: Dessert cocktail, three squares. —

Later, the Thai peanut veggie wrap, for only $9, teams sauteéd zucchini, sweet peppers, pineapple, asparagus, shredded carrot, brown rice, cilantro and their spicy Thai peanut sauce.
For going Orleans, there is Bourbon Street fritatta with eggs, queso, sweet peppers and andouille sausage baked in a bed of zucchini noodles with a side of spicy etouffee.
Upping the ante is the Very Veggie Frittata sporting asparagus, carrot, sweet peppers, onion, much mushroom and parmesan baked in that bed of zucchini noodles. The Italian-style sausage fritatta finds mozzarella, sweet peppers and onion baked in a bed of zucchini noodles, as well.
As for omelets, going back to breakfast, there is queso, sautéed crimini mushrooms, red peppers and Chihuahua cheese. The avocado bacon omelet brings in tomato, and the Greek shrimp some feta, black olives, spinach, fresh tomatoes and garlic, and for $12 the ham, onion and provolone, and likewise the crispy hashbrowns, Italian sausage, bacon, mushrooms, Chihuahua cheese and spicy aioli. It can also be avocado or garlic spiced.
And there’s the all-in omelet, and Phoebe’s Toast Toppers with options that include both Feta and goat cheese, and red pepper with the egg. Two entrees each provide goat cheese and — what’s called the Oh Yeah! — portabella for breakfast that’s sauteed, along with that treatment for onion, peppers and spinach, and ham topped with semi-soft egg and provolone.
Then layer onto The Portland, for $14, sautéed portabella and peppers with brown rice, spinach, asparagus, onions and all the rest. The Traditional French toast pours on two pieces of cranberry wild rice. With the pancakes, with local syrup, add chocolate chips or blueberries.
When it comes to the bistro filet steak, typically eight ounces, add two eggs with a side of chimmi churri.
Sharon’s French Toast finds three slices offered.
As far as uptown entrees, the bistro fillet medallions are also served with Thai chimmi churri, seasonal veggies, and baked mashed potato with cheese. You can add, count ’em, five garlic buttered shrimp. Camille’s chicken tenders with baked mashed potato with cheese have lots of sauce choices including raspberry chipotle.
The mushroom marsala risotto with lemon chicken, speaks for itself, but there’s more. Its chicken picata with lemon zest served over creamy mushroom marsala risotto. Grilled ahi tuna (it can be seared to medium rare, if that’s your style) is also given such treatment.
You can also toast to roasted red pepper asparagus. Incorporated into entrees is creamy basil pesto, with fresh seasoned tomato. All these are served with baguette.
And hark forth jambalaya! This time of year. Shrimp, chicken, and andoullle sausage, etouffee (a trinity of green peppers, onions, and celery), simmered with creole spices and served over brown rice with pita. Spicy!
As such, there is a Thai entrée for a mere $11. Amazing, they say! Mango, sweet peppers, asparagus, and zucchini tossed in their Thai chimmi churn with brown rice. There’s also an alternative with rice noodles topped by cabbage, crushed peanuts and cilantro.
The Robust Betty gets its name from steak medallions and three shrimp. Add veggie hash and mushrooms caramelized with pit barbeque sauce topped with fresh jalapeño, and more. Cauliflower risoto blends in a special bleu cheese sauce to what’s garden grown.
Here’s how we roll. Noodles cannelloni is $12 and is pasta rolled with ricotta, mozzarella, parmesan, chicken and Italian sausage, and your choice of red, rosa or alfredo sauce. You can get a version with butternut squash and more sauces.
Deck some steak out with crimini mushrooms, asparagus, red and yellow peppers, and parmesan cheese. Zoodles too. And use of raspberry chipotle.
Again the sides rule the game. Cheesy baked AND mashed potatoes, root veggies, mixed greens and fresh fruit are available for between $2 and $4.
More and bigger salads have artichoke hearts, talatel (GF) and live tapanade, wasabi, tamari ginger sauce and pickled ginger (both of those). And they’ve got their I65 creamy parm, so you don’t have to hit the road for it.
Both soy and ginger grace your broccoli Bowl. And consider that Cuban chicken has sweet pickles, and the hummus has parmesan.
The New Yorker feels like you are right in the Big Apple. And some dishes add apple also. Dried cranberries and sugared walnuts, anyone?
To top off the Greek burger, you can add gyro. Your street taco can come in a box, and conjured up are camarones (i.e. six split shrimp) and at times ciabatta.
There are also plenty of beverages, nonalcoholic and also non-virgin, and desserts of all types and this is why they also call themselves a gelato bar, and we’ll deal with those in later post.

Their address is 729 N. Knowles Ave. and the phone is (715) 246-7657.

The fun and funky 4-20 female knew all that a good clerk should. And she could even poke fun at her industry. Her store had sold out of CBD-infused drinks, as a hurricane had hit their supply center ceiling down south. And this was April 20, so she added that they’d been highly busy all day. No rest for the wicked.
She said this with an expression showing equal doses of exasperation and exhaustion.
So standing only hookah-length away, I made the first joke, between us, to avoid any interloping vape interludes. Maybe the workers were high enough to reach ceiling level and beyond. So they can fix it fast. (See this post’s last paragraph for the commonality). Or maybe not.
Then she threw it back my way: Maybe they didn’t even know that which was missing.
They might, or might not, if Colorado workers. Like my former neighbor who, one of two, took the pandemic as a chance to move there and work at, one of many … pot farms. But their book-keeping at times went up in smoke, so to speak. I’ll let you, dear reader, finish the joke. OK, I will. Were their problems stemming from quality control? Or was it done too often, stoners doing overtime.

— Is gray, as in Wolves, the new black as far as sports-bar jersey color? Or green yields to a bit orange or red? This crew, and not the Brew Crew, might leave you black and blue if you diss their metro team(s). Just where was this Wild vigil of many colors?  To get the answer, visit the department Where Did You See It. —

Another thing that required right timing, just today on cell phone, tell me my slightly stoner buddy where you are parked alongside the park, lakefront side, taking in the new, majorly flooded street scenes.
Stationed north, or south, up or down along the watermark? Not sure? His pix would tell.
Thus, I’ll take you back to a couple of decades ago, the last time the waters hit this level. Each year I’d check them as they rose, and contribute a couple of paragraphs to newspapers such as the Eau Claire Leader-Telegram, or even the Milwaukee Journal (that was the paper’s name back in the day before they merged with the Sentinel in the same city) as part of their coverage package. And when waiting for the water to rise even more, when the coming rain would soon make for a big finish, I hung with a college J student who was clerking at what was then going by the name More 4, as the waters lapped at its back docks and doors. The only grocery store in the downtown, it was open 24 hours.
I got a great photo of a women wearing a slim off-shoulder pink blouse taking her dog down to the rising edge of the river, now reaching to a level where the dike road was close to under-water, as some people in the background still wandered and gawked. And a park bench in the foreground had liquid lapping up to its top rail.
That photo never ran, space reasons. But it told the story in many forms. I still have an old print of the image, gotten at the local pharmacy chain, since that was back in a day before digital pix.
And I don’t have to paint you a picture, all the cool clubs in Stillwater’s waterfront are edging up to their barstools underwater. Keeps away the rowdy types, as this is indeed Minnesota side, that Stillwater has become known for?
And in Hudson, the fittingly named Pier 500 is no longer local, as it was dislodged by floodwaters from its perch a block from the St. Croix River and then was floated down to the Mississippi as far as a Des Moines lock and dam. (Just kidding).
Up a few blocks and bars, was a video was being taken (for recordkeeping, and/or insurance adjusting?) of one of the wind-and-rain-damaged lots and cars. (No power trucks). Or doing a selfie. As he soon was joined by another videographer. No wait, they’re just playing on their social media devices at length. Frogger, joined by mallards, in the wet-grass side lane? At least they no longer have to worry about slabs of slushy ice falling from eaves — sometimes from more than one spot in a doorway.
A sign along the way was describing what they could do for your cable. Install it? Fix it? As it is likely down recently. But the need for such repair work soon would fade, and that sign since went poof. Replaced by this one: Suns out, solar panels in! We now have sun-powered Flix Busses.

The specials will abound around a theme, as Thursday comes around, at the newest such shop in the area, New Richmond Tobacco and Vape on the south end.
They call it their Spaced Out 420 (no hyphen or colon) sale, and you won’t want to forego this one, as part of celebrating the special holiday (non-official but observed, by those who bow to Black Sabbath and Sweet Leaf) again on April 20 for all stoners, known to all who have relatively clear memories as 4-20.
Mystery bags will be for sale, so you have to be trusting of the staff’s selections, among their bigger than usual inventory that includes some very hard to find products, among them the delivery-method merch that when fully loaded allows you to enjoy their other merch.
This is just like those offered for years at Pudge’s and Emma’s and other St. Croix County bars and liquor stores. One had to look at the prices, which varied by venue but usually not by much, to see if a deal was likely to be had, and match the alcohol percentage tallies of bottles of their off-sale booze — and we have to invoke the impact of profit motive and the unloading of product that just isn’t selling.
Back at NR TAV on April 20, you can buy two disposables and get one free. The same ratio exists with most Delta products, 8 and 9. But why would you want to dispose of such things? Or why not?
Being creative with their specials, you can also get a bottle of (juiced) juice with purchase of any nicotine device, saith NR TAV.
There are so many “delivery” options, broadly, to facilitate getting your stuff inside you, in the Amazon era.
Buy any glass product and get the second one for 50 percent off, at NR TAV. In case you Shattered the first one. The Stones, with Old School smokers like guitarist Keith Richards and their smokin’ music, should know.
(The) first three people to spend $100 at the roomy venue located on Knowles, South rather then North, will win a free prize, (is that not why they call it a prize?) Like a Vegas poker game to win, by getting to the three-digit dollar level, so you might want to up the ante or amount.
There will also be on-hand a crew of lobbyists, topically, fighting for your right to party with the newest and biggest option that’s on the legislative table(s) for legalization, and explaining how to get a bill passed to stoners. (Just kidding for that whole sentence).
Also, the first trio inside the door win a free door prize. One thinks of music by The Doors and such.
And that flavor of music, like Pink Floyd, might be an inspiration for the other vape and more shops in Rivers Falls, Hudson and New Richmond — the Devil’s Tri-Tone? — to plan even well in advance, so you as a consumer don’t always have to wait until The Twentieth, their raffles and other 4-20 amenities. Amen.

As its another weekend, renewed spackles of snow. Tiny constructs with their constraints on the cold concrete.

So my mind backed up to where I was at the start of the April First blizzard. To the first woman of us at dawn who tried to plow through with our subcompacts, would there even be any point to the effort to get going? The blizzard blast was already piled more than three feet high at the front of the driveway bent to the street, anyway, due to the plowing already on steroids. So where was she going to travel so urgently? She was emotionally snowed under by the need to get to work.
That lady, said my brother as the key mover whenever a push was needed, had her parking brake on the entire time they were trying to move her suddenly-seeming-vast vehicle. Gimme a break, he added, like said to Diamond Dave in the Van Halen song.
But between a full three of them, pushing and pulling, they made a bit of headway, eventually … Then falling back though.
So the pails of sand to use from the quite old apartment building at the top of one level of stairs, and bottom of another, would thus not be needed. Yet.
I saw her much later, I thought, as we finally were able to leave the New Richmond lot, only on foot. Oops, a different Asian woman. You are someone else, but I am still right here, perched on the snowbank’s crest.
In a place a short piece away, the license plate Out On The Street said APT 1931. Plausible for the year of construction, methinks, buried parking lot and otherwise.
When we got back there early that evening, after delivering the goods to Hudson via U-Haul only, as the main car with snow almost to the hood was still right there. I checked my text messages, and the latest one said that the gray van would be ticketed and towed come Monday morning. That would avoid someone having to put in more overtime, I’m guessing. But could you take the towing plow and push us, please. We’d welcome that.
The leasing company was an entity WE had reached out to early in the morning, but following that time and their assurances, many texts followed that, for another time, threatened they’d tow you out of the snow to an impound lot. On just that day, I counted almost a dozen since the morn.
They were serious about their craft, so inside the place, get right what they will have to view at inspection. As I vacuumed with my final thrusts — yes I will do that — I kept finding that the cord was getting caught in the underlying grooves in those winter boots, then would not pull loose. So, I thought, reposition the way you step, hit a different spot on the bottom rubber sole. Hey, do you know how many grooves there are at the bottom of most every boot?
Or trees to stomp on with those grooved boots. There would be that too, when finally leaving New Richmond. As we progressed southwest, the number of trees and their bowing became greater in number, dropping and crossing further and further into the edge of roadways.
The Sub House woman later provided to these hungry movers … subs. But almost not. Just info. They would normally open at 11 a.m., but this was a different day that brought lots of power outages, including at the new apartment, however only overnight. But the Sub House wasn’t able to fully open until 1 p.m. and that meant their daily bread would have to be baked fast, with one ear given to the customers at the same time.
Fast forward to the Smilin’ Moose version of the outage. It fried their sound system, the deejay said, so the music volume was low as a subtle bass line. Tell that to the new bride with her cowgirl party who just wanted to dance. I approached her and joked that her hat should have been black. But all she wanted to do was dance, and the softer music just wasn’t doing it. So could I put in my pitch for greater volume, but was told it wasn’t going to be. Sorry.
How about greater control of my aching muscles? Mark the pharmacist plays Dr. Phil. Twice. Could all this moving, some of it weighty furniture, be aggravating to my Tourette Syndrome muscles? And what about the stray voltage past, fry those neurons? I got one “no” and one “don’t know.”
And what’s that roar? Vacuum running guy. No boots this time. Out in the parking lot. Remove tree trunk residue.
The snow on them might melt early, then freeze as evening fell. (Thus became efficient for smaller couples to do their thing early. These were dads and their young daughters parading in holiday pastel dress.) The same process to follow on from the weather pattern was shown with customer traffic in downtown Hudson going through the next week — and into the party zone it becomes most every weekend that introduces Easter.
At the Moose that Friday night, it was a few gaggles of college kids who were home, and three who looked like they could be their parents.
So we are in Wisconsin, so let’s party, spring being nature’s way to promote it, Agave Kitchen said. Where else did they learn? The retort: “What else is there to do in North Dakota?”
Across the aisle, a frat guy was wearing a Journal Sentinel T-shirt, and the Milwaukee paper said “No Sweet,” an apparent reference to the bevy of Badger basketball bounty, or bust.
I had to wiggle past the guy to get out the door, for my way home. But as he turned around, it was a differently shirted guy. Boozy and chatty. To say something, I told him I used to write for the MJS, and all he wanted to talk about concerning my industry was this: “So what to you think of what AI has done to it?” After internet.
Just basically left with blathering blogging, bloke.

It reached the mid-80s today. I personally like the 80s to be my music, to quote one-man-bander Jeff Loven, not the temps. If the 70s, then light and breezy. The sidewalks and dike walks, and park walks and riverfront and lakefront walks — no cake walks quite this soon — were soon abuzz with people, and places that serve them all over either were doing final spring-early summer prep of their patios, or opening them for service, and early, and not as in the season.

As this was a far cry from less than two weeks ago. As a friend just noted to me, in this state you can have snow and boiling sun all in the same seven days. And on such a fateful note …
We all thought but didn’t tell each other that moving across-county to my new apartment on April First, just as the midnight hour occurred to bring about such, might yield a late-season, snow-season disaster. To the point that power went out due to tons — as far as either the pounds or numbers — of downed trees on one end as you trekked toward it, and there even was a tornado cited on the other.

— So we now refer to mid-April, then April 20 and 22, for our haul/trek/trip back to live music. Heavy on Ziggy’s, for two straight Fridays.

So we start at April 15 at Ziggy’s, the Hudson version, with the mostly country, musical act Nathan Hansen, (and we are not talking about the old boy-band by that name). But this guy rocks the muscle shirt even more than most of the carefully coiffed for video country acts. Those big biceps can really play that guitar that he holds thigh-high, colored with equal doses of slightly-swirled black and white, the two main cowboy hat tones, although he is not wearing one.

On the following Friday, April 22, there is another new act at The Z, named the Generation X Jukebox. Bet that genre bends, but stays classic. And if you can’t fit that name onto the marquee, just shorten it to Gen X Juke. Do they play mostly three-minute songs to accommodate such?

What? We just blipped over 4-20? We all know why and what that is. See Picks of the Week, soon if I’m not slacking, to pick up the pace on that party. —

At a nightclub plopped between them, in this ongoing tale of two snow-shutdown cities, the Blackout band was playing — if they could go on. Maybe we should have taken that as an omen, although because of snow we passed that point hours later than planned.
And you might have (rightly) thought that Ye Ol’ Ice Boulder, at the edge of that months-troublesome street in front of my former place — as yes we were able to eventually complete the residence transfer — as pointed out in a pair of past posts, was bad and big?
And what did that grand groundhog see in early February, near the start of weather things? And the idea that March comes in like a lion and/or goes out like a lamb? Who cares! As its more importantly an April Fools Day joke. What a fool believes.
Were we that? My mother and brother had traveled cross-state to move me into my new place, and Tom almost stopped and got a motel after rain turned to sleet and then snow as Eau Claire turned into Menomonie.
So I am the man, or the son, with the van. Buried in my … And it would take more then one car and truck or two. And not just for making the move, but even supplying the sheer torque to get it to go, as we as in our various vehicles got stuck in the snow at least four times. Lost count.
The snow level was measured at a couple of centimeters below 13 inches, so when I’d guessed a foot I was close although overly kind, so even if making it through the parking lot then down the alley, there was that avalanche of snow waiting at the entry to the street, as THOSE, city plows had already been through three times per my mom’s count. She knew because of tossing and turning all eve, all the while worrying that the local-corporate apartment lender (Lowcal) would announce at hey, you got about the length of an album side to move your moving van or it would be ticketed and towed to enable plowing.
That would be 10 a.m., they said. But then it came 11 and 12 (high noon or midnight? OK, that’s an exaggeration). So what to do? Find someone with a snowblower. It took a while, but through networking with a neighbor I had never met, we even got a big ol’ blade. But even that got stuck.
In hindsight, should have hit the guy up when I first saw him out with his (much smaller unit) of a snowblower at 7 a.m. when the sunlight was soon starting to shine again.
But come noon, when it became clear — trying to be clairvoyant as far as the plowing pace — we would not see any light at the end of the snow tunnel anytime soon, I got on my boots that were made for walking and hit the street to find another neighbor with a now very popular such unit. And it was good that I tied the shoelaces carefully, because it would be a hike.
First guy blowing out that I saw down about three blocks down — I told him it was two for expediency sake — kinda blew me off, saying it was not for he that he was doing the service, but a neighbor, and can’t you just shovel it yourself, as it would be hard to get the snowblower, and it musta been an ultra mega like the regional old band name, down that far and he did not have a truck. I backed off and said I was sorry for asking, but that time was of the essence to make the move, and it would take many hours for us to do it by hand. Then I thought, hey, if it Getting There is the concern, we do have this still empty U-Haul …
So back around, then turn south a jog. On foot of course. But that guy it seemed might have to be more reliant on his kid with a shovel then he’d wanted. His snowblower, though currently chipping away, just might not last to the end of the driveway before breaking down.
Knocked on the next door up, no one was there, and to boot, their snowblower was sticking unused into a snowbank. A woman drove slowly past then parked, and methinks she might be the homeowner. Nope, just getting out of her car to take some photos of an unrelated house.

Then there was pre-Easter salvation.

So a last ditch effort, back to the early morning blower, but it was his wife who answered the door. She said he was at a local funeral home, which employs him to plow snow. She did not know when he would be back, but added that she’d flag him down over the phone and describe the dilemma. Sure enough then, it wasn’t long and he pulled up with full blade and went to work. Not just one pass over the driveway, but also its edges, two then three times … My brother and I worried he’d get in trouble with the apartment leasing company if proceeding much further. But after minutes our end of the driveway was cleared, and it looked like we we in the clear. But a last pass (was attempted) do get the car out also.
It was then the guy got stuck. Can someone even push back a blade-fronted machine? He became a beneficiary, in reverse, of my brother’s Suburban and chain, and bro told me he’d needed to do the same thing, jerking his chain, to remove the U-Haul from its parked space back in the Hudson lot, or no trip at all. And as far as the man with the plow plan. What was his name? Ryan, or Bryan, or Hyman? We agreed we’d just stay forgetful. Meanwhile, the lady of that house stood by with her and hubby’s solution, should things get any worse: A plastic jug of chicken grits. (What ???) But this would get mentioned again later.
But it would soon take more than grits to get unstuck. Back up the van, anyone. Got it a ways, but no more. What followed was an unbalanced attempt with many levels of levers to get the job done. Beyond the usual push and pull of forth than reverse in quick tandem. Two pieces of cardboard done twice, one for each front wheel. Digging out with shovel and feet and even hands. On all fours. Almost crawling underneath the main van structure — with a nod to make my head fit. Alas, no further motor movement, to or frow, to speak of.
At this point, who comes to the door but … the funeral home director! In full suit. Checking in on us before and/or during our metamorphic death. But for now, grits would save, he said. Love to make small talk, but I must help my Blood Brother. But wait, aren’t you from that old home across from my way back old workplace, the Hudson Star-Observer? Reliving the days of the building reconstruction that followed, as a break from digging.
After the car slid back to where it had been in the lot, through the help of all and Iam and Allah, we managed to load everything into the U-Haul and be on our way.
A past political placard said it this way, Winter is coming and with it higher fuel bills and linked to that grocery, too, and the like. But 18 billion inches of snow? This is not the south shores of Lake Superior or the north pole.
The another ye ol’ sign says it all. It was up for about a month in the worst of it, Winter I’m breaking up with you because its time I start seeing other seasons. Since then, post April, it said, Winter I’m sorry for what I said. They may now take back taking it back.

Easter eggs? Here are the signs.
The word on the marquee at Agave Kitchen says it for the season, as in the message behind the metal lyrics of (fittingly) Dance of Death: There is more to life then is dreamt of in your philosophy. (Depending on what it is).
Agave as in past years, has provided a take for the secular world (not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that or in them doing that).
First, on Good Friday: “JC did it for you.” (Thought at first that was saying Happy Birthday, but that was a different season). Then two days later, and we know what that is: “He is Risen.” Still up on Easter Monday. Irrespective of where you lie, there is a (greater) truth here that plays out into so, so many other truths, on all sides. (Listening to Slayer — of Pilate? — while I write this. Good stuff, seriously.)
And then the sign that has appeared on the door, all are welcome here including all races, colors, creeds, genders, persuasions, orientations, ages, dogs (only on the patios?), frogs (maybe not the legs as says Ozzy?), and hogs (most likely not unless they’re bikers?)
Down the way, the sign Hoppy to See You, but closed on Easter, as was written for so many places you wouldn’t expect to be open anyway, but Dunn Brothers had open written on their door. And Mallard’s at a whole 9 a.m. for their brunch.
And then calendars: They all had Passover (although one added the word starts), and Easter of course, and Earth Day and even Eid al-Fitr (not sure what that is, but I expect the last two observances are linked). But not on my Alma Mater of Blugold, that being UW-Eau Claire that did have the Athletics Foundation Gift thingee to scan,, but listed on the Shiner Children’s Hospital version are Good Friday and Palm Sunday and even Orthodox Easter.

Has the Ragin’ Cajun returned? Strong drink fuels the desire to take in more tip-top dance routines.
The Cajun Club in Houlton has one of the longest tenures of any exotic dance club in the greater St. Croix County area. But just three words into this post, you can see why Twin Citians sometimes cross(ed) over from Stillwater to partake.
But any number of years back, there was a new trend. A couple of different couples, one duo then the other, took over the reins and both vowed to clean things up a bit. One of them lived in the area and doubled as a karaoke crew at places in their stomping grounds, and the latter of the two were from The Cities, and they did a full remodel of this club that had a (rather dark) decore and such, much like the old Dibbo’s rock club in Hudson.
But the club was in the news recently for liquor license violations, including alleged refilling of bottles of booze. The owners have said they had no knowledge of this, and that it was the doing of a manager that got them all legally stung after the running of a sting of sorts by the ATF, which for some reason seemed to put such an investigation high on their agenda.
I see some contributing factors. The Twin Citian owners were hardly ever onsite day to day, so you could see why they just might not have known, and why this was not as much as you’d think be right under their nose, and they were literally blindsided by the accusations. The venue has typically had managers who lasted longer than most at this post than is typical in the service industry, so a level of trust may have been built. And the bar area had remained fully separate from that where the dancing took place — as you had to walk by a room with pool tables and then through a big and plush curtain before you’d even know the other is there, so it was almost free-standing and possibly leaving room for mischief to be done and be unseen. But inside that huge room, literally a dance hall, added were a bar-rail and more prominent VIP rooms.
All this really hit after a hearing was held in front of the public, and complaints were aired, but in this rich and proper area, no matter how much bouncers managed activity, you’d probably have any number of residents eager to get things off their chest. And again going back years, this was not the first time for such a hearing, but that for another time.

The ears have it. Flying into this pre-Christmas season like now as maybe even a pre-adverted Advent. So we focus not on nosily flared noses, but those pointy things worn aside the head of both bad-haired bosses and Spocks and at times by our fighting materialism with sorta-labor-strike elves. In a place such as the Pole. Unless employed by Amazon.
Yes in downtown Hudson there were shrieks of joy not only from transfixed kids and adults with careful cameras, as they negotiated in their minds their peers posed mostly motionless in the small shopping room windows with only an occasional movement to make their ears and eyes perk up, but those with those lobes held in place as they swirled drinks at Ziggy’s. Yes two of the cocktail waitresses were dressed down to the toes like elves and also up to such flared ears, and in one case even a single sprig of mistletoe, as multiples would be scandalous. And even down to the piano player (more on those who trade off on the keys later) there were strings of multi-colored lights around their necks. This was the aftermath of Halloween with more such oblong ears, also seen on a vivid older woman dressed like a The Doors poster who added she’s only revisiting her childhood — as it was her sister who was the true Woodstock aspiree.
More on that this simple eve before Christmas? A simply named band, many more members than letters, is now doing doors at Dick’s Bar in Hudson, showing the (party) favor of the Lucky Dog and its beer, and also free samples of appetizers and also pudding concoctions.

This just in from my database, admittedly provided by the Russians.
We all have seen are mailboxes getting more and more full of political pointers of the same size and glossiness.
And I am assuming that all you HudsonWiNightlife readers are astute enough to be familiar with the out-of-control-monster even days after Halloween that are “franking” privileges, and we are not talking Frankenstein and his ilk, even though he’s been standing taller and looming larger by the day. Rather, this is about the frankly invasive to our mailboxes stuffing of ads where politicos are offered free mailing rights to tell their constituents via the post office how they are battling such Russians and doing other wonderful things for our populace, with no questions asked like would be the case with an actual press-monitored debate. And there are fewer of these, it seems, and my Associated Press contact way out in California told me that in my neck of the woods there are many cases where their stringer reporters are not being allowed access to polling places!
But there is no free lunch, unless with a lobbyist. Someone has to eventually pay for the extra white cube trucks needed to provide feet on the floor for franking.
So, that stat I promised. It turns out that a full 13 percent or so of the mounting national debt is because of franking privilege abuse. Or so say my sources, and I think they are in the Kremlin. Not sure. But they do add that of that tally, 87 percent is part and parcel of The Obstructionist Party (TOP not GOP), even though they are the ones most likely to say they have the Divine — and they often invoke God — Plan to kick debt to the curb.
More on such God Awful Government (GAG) in the coming days.

Here and thereafter, are the two Saving Graces of those who as far as lack of getting the word out, still gain some ungainly Halloween game.
The Smilin’ Moose in Hudson has a total prize value on Saturday — this holiday-time around on one night only — in quadruple digits. Even the understated has an attraction here, like the white-chalk-rubbed feet/hands (not sure which) and heads on the windows looking out into the night.
And understated as an understatement at The Wild Badger in New Richmond, is the banner that flanks around over the size of three booths, and says/promises this — also a Saturday — will be a Night To Dismember. So take that, with your costume choice. They have a take on it unlike others, where there is a battle of the dueling deejays. Do they both play Thriller?

The Iron What? That was the ending chant, before encores (plural).
So here we go with official Geek Out II to my now back-in-concert Maiden.
And you think there is not prophecy in music? Or just accidental genius?
Back in the day, think 1970s, there was this cool tidbit, or more, that now comes around again.
Recently, the Russians, notate that, got in a spot with their warlike move into Crimea. As in defeated. Because in large part of very Bad Intelligence.
How so, decades ago?
Then there was Maiden and their most popular song, one of their earliest, called The Trooper. It was about a crucially bad move into — Crimea — made by their fellow Brits where they got slaughtered in a long past war with yes, Russia, based on in their end faulty CIA type stuff.
What goes round comes around? History repeats itself?
And if we don’t learn from it … A Maiden sequel over what has been, with their music, a call to prevent having no more music, as in as Morrison said, The End.

Hey, does not Ziggy’s have a place in Stillwater also?
But it the Hudson version where I found that — gasp! — I had forgotten that this weekend was Lumberjack Days in Stillwater. I’d recollected that it was actually in August and had wanted to hit them up for an ad, as they might bite the bullet as this fine website is getting to have more and more traffic. Like Stillwater. And not the Old School band by that name. So give me back my bullets.
But there is a backstory. As always. So back up. And not traffic.
A cool dude and his significant other were sitting at the bar, putting bread in the jar of bartender, since the piano man would not start for another two hours. So minds wandered …
What is the killer Hudson rock fest that is in August. After the proverbial Booster Days and the art and music in the park event in September. We kept on ruminating on that, coming back to it again and again and querying each other like Quora. There was this aspect that we had seen and that, but what was the object in question? We joked — OK I did — that we would remember in our sleep at 3 a.m. and call each other.
I added that as the Twin Cities presence in Hudson nightlife becomes more and more marketable, smaller fests are being added, although they are not promoted as actively and stay under the radar. I thought there was another artsier one coming up next month, but I was told I had another thing coming. Then it all hit us like a divine revelation from above — big overstatement — that this weekend was the killer summer fest that is Lumberjack Days. So we googled. It had not been held, Covid constraints, since 2019 and again, had been off our collective radar.
So all these reasons may have been to blame for our lack of recall. But hey, Stillwater is kind of buttoned up, although PBS plays well there, so here is a thought as to why. In verse.
Apologies if I slightly misquote Chapman and the chaps from Monty Python:
“I’m a lumberjack I’m OK, I work all night and I sleep all day. I like to pick up sailors, dress in women’s clothing and hang out in (Stillwater?) bars.”
Not exactly the Chamber of Commerce fight song. They might fight that.

What with this being the ebb after Good Friday, and still a bit before Easter, I feel compelled to draw in and quarter some — again — heavy metal songs that although timeless about war and the deaths that always follow, in this day and weeks are especially poignant about the ones that always seem to suffer the most, namely the children. This point was made all the more in recent online analysis.
To wit. The Ukraine. And not long before that Afghanistan. Everyone including mere babes fleeing their countries for their very lives. And full war, not just the gloss-over term conflict. That is what goes on in our minds as we struggle with the (war on) humanity of it all. And as you read the next few paragraphs, take into account the boot-to-the-head presence, now relevant again, of the aspect as lyrically named of “atomic fear.”
Did some karaoke at the Wild Badger in New Richmond. The metal on the play list was sparse, but they did have a diamond in the rough. Out of the three songs that are always present, there was the obligatory Run to the Hills — wrongly among other things, “enslaving the young” — but but the other two usually seen standards were for naught. But there was as a real saving grace Two Minutes to Midnight. You could write a whole treatise about this song, but considering the point I’m making, lets cut to the chase (for peace).
“The killer’s breed are the demon seed. The clamor. The fortune. The Pain. Go to war again, blood is freedom’s stain, don’t you pray for my soul anymore. Two minutes to midnight, the hands threaten doom. Two minutes to midnight. To kill the unborn in the womb.” Use of that last term? I’ve thought it would have mixed reception by the prolife crowd — it is obviously not about advocacy of such slaughter — and indeed may have been thrown in there to appeal to the large segment of their audience that is profoundly religious. Or the flip-side, a position taken by some online that is described in the lead of this post. .
So to close out, we refer to the self-proclaimed Masters of Reality in the form of being anti-war, Black Sabbath, and their cutting-to-the-chase classic Children of the Grave. “Will they (not yet old enough to vote and may not ever get there) win the fight for peace or will they disappear?”
Then skip to another standard by the band that’s not actually advocating darkness, but obviously is again even more relevant: “Children of the future, watching empires fall. Free from the final judging, the destruction of all.”
But in the minutes (more than two as I am not that speedy) taken to write this post, (and I will bring more and much deeper analysis in coming times and not the end times), we’ve come nearer to the Easter celebration that we as one pray can bring joy to those of all persuasions, so sorely needed, so let’s end with that part of Children of the Grave that “is a song of hope.”
We as children must hope that love is still alive and must be brave …
Amen. Enjoy your holiday, regardless of what’s its name. Joe.

As spring has sprung, officially, we are now releasing tales from the deep freeze, and a holiday that falls just days before winter fades away, and approaching May Day.
There was that night where temps were below zero, and it was met with a flurry of freeze-prompted signs on bar doorways — not put up in a hurry as there was time — about closing up at least some parts of their business early. Servers could go home before the Fahrenheit drops even more, but judging from the garb, they weren’t too distressed.
Ziggy’s was shut down, for all purposes, before midnight, as the last man not cut was taking out the last of the days garbage over to the dumpster across a small parking lot. Yeah, the weather, he muttered on more than one front.
At Hudson Tap, they approached the situation in the same way that has been seen before, limiting service to just at the bar rail, not tableside in the other three-fourths of the venue. Would like to know what time of day they made the transition. (And in reverse, for the start of March Madness, the place opened hours earlier than usual, at 11 a.m. One of those days was even a weekday.)
At Dick’s Bar there still was one bartender grinning and baring it, with shorts coming thigh-high. (Like a guy I used to know who wore shorts while out and about, even late then the temps are the most outrageous, 12 months out of the year. Did he ever make an exception?)
But also, it was announced, the kitchen was not heating, catching the eye of one of three venues in such straits. And going into the Hudson Public Library, back door only since weather damage that was done even before the snows started flying, the internet was down for a time, and all my friends could not be there too.
But now, we have St. Patrick’s Day and the full houses all around, with the exception of the early dance floor at the Smilin’ Moose. I even got some green beads, one string only, from a young Minnesotan! And at Dick’s there were games offered galore, like at The Tap, including a bar take on piling up wooded blocks like a house of cards, going a full five feet in the air. A woman stumbled by — look out and don’t breath! — to go to a couple of tables set aside for beer pong. She barely made the right angle, to avoid what could have been a disaster of a fall.
We must on the day of the Irish, actually on the Friday that was after, mention New Richmond. One place had a full house for food, especially, but it broke fairly early, although the servers were still on hand. They even ended up, again early, running out of Guinness! At the Wild Badger, the band played on and the place was totally full, and there were many new takes of the typical Irish green and such garb, even a merger of that and red with one woman’s lipstick. Things died down a bit on Saturday, two days after the start of your hangover.

It was the Big Game followed to the day between the first of many Big Date(s).
Yes the Super Bowl was on a Sunday night (with hours of earlier pregame) and on Monday was Valentine’s Day (with we hope nearly that much foreplay).
But this meant you had two holidays, with the grub and all the fixings and also then that special gift for that special someone, to prep and gift for.
And this dichotomy means you might have to do it all in one fell swoop not long before the coin toss. And various stores seemed to pick out just one to highlight in their ad flyers, at the expense of the others as it all started late in the weekend, when the weekly advertisements turn over.
Come the time when the sun was setting on the NFL season with one big bash, some WOMEN were shopping in pairs for V-Day especially. Three such duos were seen an aisle apart, hitting everything from cards and candy to flowers to even necklaces, all part of what was being targeted at Target. Oddly, at that time there was not much festive food to be seen offered as specials, even at the must pass by corners. But that times-two factor was in part why this ended up being a great merchandising event.
Jump to the next day Jonesey’s Local, were there was one, just one couple, celebrating and giving life to the sparseness there. Low-key but then started to swinging around in dance like a waltz with groove and feeling. So much so they even brought in via big smiles a couple of others at the bar, and that made up about 50 percent. Inspiration! Ambled over to Jonesy himself and said what I had been pondering to him, be my Valentine? Nope, dance cards already full.

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It might be fitting that when the Jan. 6 debacle took place, I had to glean what info I could by watching the one TV screen in the ER. I viewed this emergency while in the emergency room with one of my occasional Tourette’s emergencies. I stumbled, literally, onto CNN and Anderson Cooper — who pulled no punches in his analysis — in part because I had no easy-to-use remote to switch to other stations. So enlightened I will be. And after a year, plus a few days I needed to use when it all came back to the fore again, I have stepped back to reflect. But first, on that day of days in Washington …
I called a friend who was concerned about me, and after a quick check-in she said, can you call back later, I’m in the middle of watching the D.C. riots. That was at about suppertime and before Cooper came on, into my room with a gurney and not too much more, so I thought what, there was a rowdy gathering of a few dozen people and someone swung a baseball bat at a cop?
So much more we can now agree. Gee, can I have those meds now?
An image I saw repeated again and again during TV coverage a few days ago, was of a man being crushed in a doorway, that door closing in on his rib cage. Amid the carnage of that footage, I could not tell if he was friend (another rioter) or foe (a cop). Regardless, a question begs, and again beckons for further knowledge: Is there an element of trust, and even that sounds absurd to contemplate, among the rioters to protect their own, or is this just an excuse to act up with potent weapons and reek havoc.
The answer may again come down to the lessons voiced and wielded in music, as there’s is a way that is much more acceptable (at least in some circles, and one size does not fit all here) to get out your pent up aggression.
We now enter the mosh pit. Even in slam dancing the many flying-around participants bash bodies but also look out for one another and try not to take it too far, although when the adrenaline fully kick in … And if the band is too extreme it heads more into the realm of war not love, at least as it is traditionally seen.
The key here is an unspoken yet understood, and held as sacred bond of trust. When body surfing, you do not drop the guy or girl who bashed into your gut too hard a mere guitar solo before. If the singer stage dives, you catch him, even if he hit a foul note in the stanza before. And their politics and philosophies and theologies might not match yours at all, or that of someone else’s fave metal band, but there is an understanding not to diss the other person’s lyrical ideas (instrumental might be another thing). Not always a total camaraderie, but unless they are really at opposite poles, mutual respect. Few people bring mace to a metal concert, even the decked-out-in-black ladies. And there is a very real security presence in case some intervention is needed, but the worst of that is usually silliness gone wild, and only faux violence.
Lastly, I attended as a reporter and listener, at the hallowed halls of the old Dibbo’s, a four-band death metal concert right here in Hudson, as the St. Croix Valley for a number of years running had a scene of that genre that was hard to beat. There is a lot to be said about that night, but for purposes here, note that when slam dancing, participants had a choice and if they stood back a couple of steps it was a signal that they did not want to fully participate, although someone might swing by and try to coax another in what amounts to asking them to dance, non-verbally. Might try a second time but then their wishes were almost always respected. The dance floor, just big enough to accommodate most cover bands, tipped its hat to social distancing, when someone would back up and take a short running start. So there can be injuries — although none that night — to the people who freely choose to be in the pit, not the innocent bystander or listener, like myself, who are left unscathed, and that is how this is different. No officer would have chosen what was to happen to them that night.

Think back to one of the initial forays a few months into social distancing and the new crowd(s) it would attract. As was seen at a sorta bar reopening and mostly just the motley crew from Minnesota. But what goes around comes around, and let me tell you why. Things aren’t that much different now, after a brief loosening of fear in past weeks, but in just the past few days things are worsening up again concerning the virus grip. So That Crowd Remains The Same, somewhat.
The following was a night at Dick’s Bar last fall, as the (brave?) few from The Cities took a chance before they might fall, and get and spread the virus, and parallels to today might be seen.
The entire length of the bar-rail found every seat taken, with a noticeable commonality among all the new customers — and lily white Hudson and its townies is one of few places where this would be even remotely significant, but hey, every good business owner needs to know the base of their clientele. The gist? All were Black.
At the far end of the bar-rail, there were a couple of people Hispanic — another ethnic group you hardly every see in the night scene in Hudson. And shooting darts with a couple of guys who were dressed like they could be from the hood, were two token while females with booty. The back room where people dance was virtually empty.
What’s the difference here, in you are a patron? I for one didn’t feel in any way uncomfortable among the newer crowd, even though many in Hudson have been fearful of any newfound rowdiness. Got into a couple of cool conversations with a couple of cool young guys, and another one middle-aged and from China, but when the subject of music came up, it wasn’t classic rock or country. And the songs played on the jukebox were also far from that vein. So diversity in ethnic heritage also brings diversity in conversation and its topics.

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Dear reader on the topic in the post that’s below on my home page. Here is an answer to your secondary question about where to go where you can milk your drink or two during a Packer game, and not order more, without being frowned upon. If you get to know a favorite bartender well — they usually keep the same game day shifts — and this might mean going to the same place most of the time to the grid contests, they are more than happy to flow with you. Yes, they love their big tippers, but they are even more appreciative of someone who is friendly and courteous, not driven by drink to get rowdy. So they will cut you some slack, and if you simply order a soda — refills are free — they may even comp it once they get to know you and your demeanor. Various bartenders have told me the house makes more money on alcoholic beverages because of the margin, even though soda is basically just sugar water and the cost of the ingredients is almost nothing. But the bartender is mostly concerned about the tips they make, they have no vested interest in alcohol vs. soda except that the refills might have them coming back more frequently. So squeeze in your quick and funny joke when they come around, and they may laugh and shoot another one back your way. A suggestion I have heard from a DUI lawyer: If you stay for the doubleheader game also, or even Sunday evening football, pass a five-spot their way as a tip, and covering all else, and have them refresh your soda for the duration. (And no, the refreshing of drink does not suggest they follow that strip club approach where the drinks are expensive and mandatory). Some people even take this to another level, where they will throw out a very high tip to the server as seed money to get that next drink or two comped. The success of that approach has diminished during these tough economic times, for the bar as well as you.

This may be the last chance for recreational gas, as it was described in a flyer at one of the local convenience stores, as Labor Day is here and you know what that marks the end of …
And as far as that fuel — get your mind out of the gutter and put it in your gas tank — it could mean anything from gassing up your grill, putting propane in the heater for that next season that is coming, to bumping up the stuff that makes that cool boat run. And the size of that boat could depend on just what Midwest country the gas originated from.
But there is more labor to be pumped on this weekend. It stems from what I’ll call the non-Dirty Dozen. I saw two teenage girls in shorts and T-shirts — you’ll see why I mention that in a moment — carrying signs that had in big red letters a word beginning in C. (I immediately thought Covid, but I could be wrong). I was soon, on a back trip via his highway, to see what it indeed was hawking. Car wash! On one of those last warm days when the dozen or so young ladies who gathered on a different corner and were wearing even a bit less made their bid, it all came clear. For charity. And upon turning on the tube at home, there was a movie by the same name, sort of … The Dirty Dozen! Stars all-around laboring in a different way as Labor Day approached. Save the country, and their lives.
But on Labor Day itself, check out a band that I think just might emulate the late Scottie Danger, blues legend locally. Back in the day, the slap bassist and his new band needed a photog to snap a picture of them looking a bit “danger”-ous for an album cover, so I obliged in a downtown Hudson back alley. Why is this important today, as so many players labor for you, the listener, not to mention hack photographers? A near namesake and likely music-sake and also longtime player, Scottie Miller, brings his act to Muddy Waters in Prescott on Labor Day from 3-7 p.m.

The aforementioned reader, on The Front Page, also chimed in about the fact that my (at times cumbersome to some people?) writing style could use a few more bullet points to break up the reams of copy, and shorter sentences and paragraphs. After all, this is the Twitter generation, and they don’t really care for my “online magazine” treatment. Guilty as charged. But wait a minute, wait a minute!
— I have over time adopted a style of prose that I think is very Hunter Thompson-esqe, the proverbial stream of consciousness, like a double lead guitar that careens back and forth in a creative but out-there way, then pulls it back together before It Stops Making Sense. This was not by design, but I segued into it.
— My long-suffering wife has noted that I will say, Honey I’ll be right up for dinner in a couple of minutes, but then get a few more inspirations to segue into (there’s that word again, so get the picture?) as I write along and it becomes a quarter-hour. This had led to that Ramble On at times, run-ons just described, or just call me a blabbermouth (I think that name has been taken by someone else on-line). And add to the analogy the fact that I indeed do most of the cooking, but I was trying to abbreviate the scenario for a change.
— That whole, here’s another idea, is one reason the stories and sentences and paragraphs spin out into longer form. So bullet points are very useful, except for the fact that One Thing Leads To Another and there is not an obvious break in the thought pattern. I used to use them more, and I’m glad this was pointed out as something of which I need to do more, and it had been on my radar, so kick my butt and I don’t want it to get smacked again. And have you noticed the three bullet points in this discourse? And the ones in another recent post? See I not only write, but kinda, sorta, once in a while read things too!

I had a dream. No, I DED, I DED! Or maybe it was my dad’s dream. You let me know what you think.
In MY such playout of vision, my father stepped into the dreamscape and made a bold playoff prediction on it.
The Tall and Cool and Greek Guy with the (Headdress of Hair?) had scored a final of 40 or more points in two straight NBA Finals games. But he — or someone, or maybe more than one someone — would up the ante, it was dreamed, and toss in 50 points … or maybe a bit more. But wait, it wasn’t necessarily a man. It could have been a woman in the dream, and not that kind of dream, such as in the WNBA All-Star Game that’s on Wednesday night, possibly from my stellar squad of the Minnesota Lynx, even though my father is a great big Bucks fan. (The other M word). And to add more mystery, maybe not even being a pro — are you listening in, my friend Corrin Von Wald of Hudson and that great title run you made with the Minnesota Gophers. (And psst. Hey Buddy. Corrin has occasionally appeared, quite briefly, in one of my dreams too! OK, only very rarely). The shooting guard-turned engineer had averaged about one third-of-the-way to those 50 points, but had her bursts.
But wait, there’s more! Shift to upstate Wisconsin, if I can use that term, away from the Deer District and the Phoenix-based snipers that were dreamed to be in action, poised in surrounding office buildings, to take out deer like they do in fall in upstate Wisconsin (part of this embellishment is such animal payback?) Anyway, I was taken by the dream just south of my hometown Merrill, veering off into a bike lane that went on for miles, teetering this way and that, through thickets and alongside swamps, all the while on slim grass, not dirt path.
Back in the car, it was south to Wausau and a trek to the south end of town for a brand new music club, playing stuff you can’t usually find and that’s not to even touch upon their music videos! Lastly, it is back to the Hudson area, and the snaking of a tributary into the St. Croix, this one down to the bare bones of summer heat and the resulting slimness of any streams of water to be found — down close to actual dirt. This directed me to the two main grocery stores left in town for some actual bottled water. More on that, in real time and reality period, later in these pages.
And also more will come, at some point, on how dreams like this (all joking aside) have a way of deeper and even guiding types of meaning for the souls who can fight through their rampant and complex symbolism — and not aided by Floyd or any fancy stuff. But these themes do come through, intelligently and in great detail, in the lyrics of bands like Deep Purple and Rainbow and Dio, back in the day, to name just three.

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This last May weekend is the killer garage sale times two, (see below), and the local Lions Club sponsors in their doubling-up, and building on the theme, what could make them out as White Lions, as this sale has been around almost as long as that aforementioned Old School band, with the club gaining expertise for selling White Elephants and more that are much beyond cliches. And reaching all along the top and bottom of western St. Croix County with their resume of dozens of stops that go beyond Hudson proper, and one even needed more than a dozen words to list all the clothing they are selling. To the point that all of this requires more than one map as a guide. And as they say, music is a universal language that connects all things, including garage sales. Prominent last night in one of the few musical ironic offerings that can found, for now, Match-Box 20 was featured, and that is exactly the number of years this sale has been going on and garnering experience, for other things too, that include the Lions big September music fest.
As far as my involvement, it only started with the c0ming of the annual April sale referenced above, at Cherry Circle N, but then there also are the even longer-term experts who are Lions who have been around since before some “21 and over” concert-goers had been born, maybe predating the heyday of grunge, and some neighbors who are also rockers. They became known for such singing with Match-Box 20 covers, and have hit this years-going time angle on both sales. (And the Lions sponsored fall music fest that will lead us to the renewal of concerts offerings). So we all know how to make such big-event offerings work. To wit: The Hudson Lions Club has for 20-plus years run their primo event of the year, that being their May 21-22 garage sale (the dates this year). And as far as us, and the fact that we even have a free dry goods offering and recipe hints, at 637 Cherry Circle N, as All My Friends Are Going To Be There Too. And some of what you can find are one-man-band trivia prizes, the Old School Matchbox Car varieties that are referenced above, much like those given a build up in the post below this one, covering Coverdale and Kitaen. To hone this all, through the years of music and the sales all this brings, we might need Mr. Peabody and his stellar machine that spans decades or more. As do the literally thousands of books that can be perused at our place, on almost any topic you can imagine.
And after that, more In The Evening:
They are a couple of young dudes who carry the news and blues, too, when they come on board at Guv’s Place over a still-in-spring cold beer on Friday nights when they are asked, and until then waiting in the wings, like that fiddle player in the (other) band who looks much like Curt Cobain. There was the main man, and his friend Joe, who met up with this Joe on a walk to and from Kwik Trip in North Hudson, and even offered me a beer from his box as we passed in the night/day. Their main love, like so many seek, is the metal, but they are open to other styles, obviously, playing at a noise level that is duet conversation friendly. Check them out, but like Axl Rose, there is no firm guarantee that any of the above will be on stage on any given Friday, having instead to make major moves on this mecca of the “dart floor.”
Then there are the three styles of loaded burgers at Buffalo Wild Wings, (as they are not all about the wing-nut), that take 10-plus words in total beyond the beef to describe their mongo main ingredients, and we are way beyond counting things like pickles. They are stacked much higher than a mound of law-school-students-required-reading-books (and this also includes the recommended chapters nobody ever picks up to give the time of day), and this reference is fitting because so many of their servers are in these studies as their day job.

The reaching out and touching you personally, if only via the mail and we’re talking snail mail not the internet kind, was a big deal in the series of latest elections and was the height of, in some candidates’ cases, what could be seen in the spirit of franking privileges gone out of control. The mailbox got stuffed just as full as the ballot box. And even the ultra-religious types got into the act when inserting their version of the message.

So you as a voter cannot let your guard down. Because They Want You, big finger and beyond pointed thusly. Since slim resources are stretched even further, right at the heart of the much-spoken-in-flyers “fiscal responsibility,” this and you are vital, maybe even a greater on-going priority (tangent alert!) than sending the National Guard Every Which Way But Lose. If you’re stationed in one of the two such Hudson centers that there have been for recruitment and headquartering (I think that is military-speak), you I guess may have needed to either follow the order of Gov. Evers, taking precedence I think,  and go fight wildfires up north as ordered by his emergency decree, or go to the up-north Twin Cities to standby for protest control, as ordered by Gov. Walz. What is a border town soldier to do? I have seen some staffers come out of their center in the Buffalo Wild Wings strip mall quite late in the evening, no doubt putting in extra time and trying to get a manpower handle on such things. For the need for their services is everywhere, and no state is excluded.

(Tangent expires). A lot of this was a huge effort to get out the vote, by both parties mind you, and even all the cable channels going way beyond the old MTV push to get young people to go out and vote — in the many different ways that are largely absentee-based and now available that were not there in the time of our forefathers —  before they could legally patronize a bar. Vote by mail, essentially? Got that. Although exactly where around the “age of majority” ties in, hasn’t necessarily stopped them from partaking in either of those things.

A campaign flyer, still sitting in my write-about-it stack, showed Trump waving to a crowd at a full football stadium, and I don’t know how social distancing fits into the picture. Right around where his big fist is thrust upward, there was what looked to be luxury boxes. Support the Great American comeback? Might ask Joe Montana about them pre-empting his claim to fame if and when he ever gets back to River Falls, in the heart of where this Red State falls, for training along the lines of the seniors circuit. And how doe this get personal as far as a pledging to you, the voter? The lingo of “voting in-person absentee” takes up a full two dozen repeated words, sent straight to you via the U.S. Postal Service. They must think you are important.

So much so they want you, yes you, by special flyer invitation, to grab up some of the “all-new legal tender $2 bills,” with Trump on the cover. I joked earlier that I saw a license plate on what could have been a poor man’s post-bankruptcy limo with the starting letters 4.95, boasting the price you could expect to pay for a glass of champagne While Back There, in today’s economic recovery period. But wait! I then saw another vehicle that wasn’t quite as long, that would be a stretch, with the numbers 3.95. Deflation? So in our time of recovery, you could get a glass of the bubbly for your two $2 bills, and still have a Nickelback as a tip. All the while being driven through the outback of northern Wisconsin and its colored forests with a path for the campaign trail and also barns, as these are about the only images you will see on all those flyers.

They also request that neighbors get together and drive together to the polls if transportation is an issue, and postcards about such went from friend to friend, as “the future is what we do together. Be  a voter. Raise a voter.” They often were from groups, if even in a third party sense, with names like Common Sense Voters of America LLC. For sure wouldn’t want that trait. Dead set against Prosperity also. And another saying, I’m for the children. Nope. And the Center For Voter Information said they had info about me, this information being a prompt to hit the polls and cast my ballot, because its was a mater of public record that I hadn’t done so yet. This was being provided to me,  “as a service to voters like you.” What do I say about this prompt from the Voting Police? I think I might cast my fly fishing rod instead.

And then there is that solicitation from God Himself. And did you know that since he goes by only the name I Am, and there is no other identifying group, all that’s listed is a Post Office Box. As in PO Box 1, Hudson. I think that’s by Exit 1. For more info, it says, visit JW.ORG. As in my initials, for Joe Winter. I didn’t know I was held in such high esteem!  “The website will direct you to the Bible instead of giving personal opinions. (The Koran is out). It has information available in over 1,000 languages.” Does this mean they are speaking in tongues?

And then there was more! I called Dick’s Bar before hitting the road to see if there were very many people there to speak of, Minnesotans and their newly put-forward-even-more-popularly draw, or with other geography, as a destination, and thus make it worth my trip. I didn’t know what to expect in these rapidly changing times, set forth by rapidly changing rules. The server who answered said it was, to paraphrase him, deader then the dead of even death metal — are you kidding as not seems not possible? — just five patrons and him, but thanks for asking brother. So few people he had an exact count at a moments notice, when the press — that’s me — came calling.

Back at Starr’s Bar,  and I know I need to diversify the venues from which I report, there were a scant few patrons over and above that number in the new North Hudson hub, but wait! A guy came up to the bar and said that he and his Gopher State buddies now have a new go-to place or two on this side of the river — do I ever get tired of that reference? And they will be Charging On To The Place Of Which So Many Speak, and there are a bunch of them, and how long can you hold open last call? And across the way, a guy that reeked more of Wisconsin sauntered up and said he needed a bit more change to play on yet again with the video poker, but all he really wanted to do is flirt with the bartender.

And all these people do need to, in the final analysis and does HudsonWiNightlife ever really wrap anything up, get home after their bar time, which may indeed be shorter for an unspecified-by-the-government, and aided and abetted by the club owners, period of time. And to be clear, it all is about what’s going on Over There with crime and its enforcement, with unfortunately can at times be one and the same. To wit, about what I wrote earlier, that you will be pulled over for something as minor as a small bulb that’s a dull bulb scenario above your license plate if its out, and the cop will ask where you are coming from: This from a guy I know who on probably too many occasions has had to deal with such situations — they will do their best to separate the actors in the car from each other and rephrase, hoping to see if their stories are the same.

So you are are a kind soul and gave your a-bit-swarmy friend a lift back home, all the time negotiating The Highway That Is The Danger Zone that is the Twin Cities and its current hyper-enforcement. You didn’t know that in the bowels of the back seat, he would pull out a bottle of beer and open it. The fishing by the cops when they stop guys like you for some of the above reasons soon finds more, like he has an active warrant. These days, especially, you do not want to have to deal with that situation. So be kind and be charitable with your riders, but above all else be diligent about things like the merits of, say, picking up a hitchhiker. Keep your friends close but … And keep it at that.

<<And now on the brighter side of life>>

It is the Thursday-Friday time of year again for the Cherry Circle North garage sale, to beat both the winter doldrums and the stir craziness that continues to mount. Score of houses offering anything you could want, if you have a buck — even possibly snacks such as chili, and beverages such as hot chocolate, as the forecast is for cooler temps. But there is no browsing fee of course. And I talked to the longtime fearless leader of this effort, now in its second decade, about what might be seen as its over-the-top merits. I don’t know, she said, but then started rattling off hot topics of interest that just kept rolling off her tongue. So I will get more specific: Check out the cool Harley at 637.

Two Minutes To Midnight? How fast can you chug one beer and only one, and maybe have to make it a shot. (OK, I know I really have to watch how I use that last word, especially these days. But I swear I had no intention of double meaning just a moment ago).

As I approached Starr’s Bar from the north, I saw fewer cars than usual along what is basically a frontage road for the tavern. But there was music in the streets, OK it was just in the back area where the bean bags are tossed. And the side door was locked. However, there was an ad hoc doorman by the south entry, who bore even worse bad tidings.

It was right on the cusp of midnight, and I still was turned away based on the edict that came forward earlier that evening. No new people allowed in after 12 because of the shooting by an officer in Minnesota days earlier. Could I at least get a coke to go? No, since they do not have even sippy cups. So instead, a run to the bathroom?

So I made my way and was stopped briefly by a now not so young man who I used to photograph when he played high school sports and I was the official cheerleader in those pages. Thanks for saying hello, but I motioned to the doorman that I knew my time was very limited and hit the can. On the way back, the bartender seemed ready to indicate that I could at least have something served, but alas, nothing. The two women who tried to enter as I exited didn’t seem to thrilled by the new policy, although it likely is temporary. Have to wonder if service also has been voluntarily cut short by 120 minutes elsewhere too.

Things had been quite a bit different about a week ago, when what was most memorable at an almost packed bar was the interplay, not protracted but also not brief, between a Packer fan at one end and a Viking fan at the other. How can catch better and run faster, and boatloads of info to back it up, and lets have another beer. And what have you heard about the trials of Adrian. Sad story about the bestess back who now probably could not afford a drink at this place in North Hudson. But the area was full all the way back to the long wall where they were rolling what I call mini-bowling.

So read ’em and weep. Or more likely, laugh your guts (and brains) out, as gallows humor should win the day. Here is more news of the silly — do you believe it? — and if you do look at the calendar, and the day that was yesterday when April rolled in.

— First off, HudsonWiNightlife got yet another major endorsement. And this one is way beyond the scope of the One Tiny Berg of Pig Farmers of Iowa, (we all pick on that state but they love it as they get the joke). It comes from the global and beyond online magazine of Elect To View The Best and Most Available Humor This Side Of The Solar System. A reference that spewed from it: Planet Caravan by good ol’ Ozzy and Black Sabbath. That might sound bad, but with the holiday that is soon upon on, the “S” word is always applicable.

— Going back to another holiday, when the Ground Hog appeared back in February, he saw the chaos that’s What Is And What Should Never Be, and said screw this, I’ll come back in two months — that’s yesterday — and see if things have gotten any better. HudsonWiNightlife indeed has its correspondents working overtime all around the globe, and OK it is actually only encompassing a two-state area, barely, to try to get an interview with the Hog. The upshot: Pres Trump saw what could be coming and buried himself — literally and figuratively — in a bunker Way On Down Below,  which just happens to be the lower level of where the ground hog lives. Cuz could nuclear war be on the way? You never know, sings Megadeth, the name of which, of course, is a reference to the millions of estimated deaths from such a calamity. Happy Easter message! But I find that gallows humor is always better than crying in your beer, of ye Wisconsinites.

— The latest news is that the Minnesota legislature has endorsed — that word again — the medical use of the weed and its wonders. But only under some very stringent conditions tied to the bill: It’s only when driving in a car pool as a last Brooklyn cheer to social distancing, as you are no longer required to work from home and can commute since you were evicted anyway, and you are required to a have great big ol’ flag flopping around in the back part of your (foreign) Subaru behind your passengers. The bill was signed into law at a one-time different venue then the capital in downtown St. Paul, which is a dead and often lifeless entity anyway, while the politicians “relaxed,” and see what that means above, all the while at the club.

OK, I’ll stop now, and if you haven’t figured it out already, this is one big April Fool’s Joke, which is a joke in itself since it is now The Second of the month. I hope that you don’t find this humor too caustic, as again, we all need to laugh more these days. May the Easter Bunny and God bless you, although not necessarily in that order. Joe.

And in past news …

A post a bit below talked about holding out; would HudsonWiNightlife do that? Well especially this time, yes, as with all the various people of all types hitting downtown Hudson at night, there was the very unfortunate incident of a multiple stabbing that resulted in a fatality. Breaking out of newspaper lingo, a man was killed. And it was all over the Twin Cities news by the next morning or so, which is incredible since the main source of such news traditionally has been the metro dailies, one more than the other depending on the incident and location, especially if in Wisconsin or close to the border, and I know from working closely with both of them — again one more than the other — that the deadline for their print product has been around 9 p.m. with tweaks for weekends. And there can be ways to hold it out, that term comes up again, away from the hands of the printer throwing it on physically — at least that’s the way it was done in past days, the time of my reporting involvement — for something like a sporting event, the more the prominence the more the extra minutes an ink stained wretch had. Which says something about our priorities; screw the typical town board meeting. (And I understand the extra pressures of these deadlines, indeed on everyone, as I’ve had to deal with them also for many years). But now there are many other players, and especially if you consider online, and even different products within the same company.

So the fact that the news hit the street and the computer so fast, and you could say shit hit the fan, shows that this was deemed vital information, which again was probably driven by the fact it took place in hoidy toidy, often rich person Hudson, sleep river town that it not longer is and has not been for decades. If this happened in North Minneapolis it would likely be only a short recitation of the police blotter.

The killing happened a few weeks ago, and on its heels was a robbery at the Willow River Saloon in Burkhardt, a notably less pristine area, that also involved what was termed a kidnapping. And earlier in the year, there was a really bad accident at the Cedar Lake venue just north of New Richmond where a vehicle ended up grinding its wheels in an outdoor volleyball court until there was sand up to near the floorboard level, before police apprehension took place. Neither resulted in any Twin Cities news coverage whatsoever.

This could be explained in the latter case because it was post-Covid-closure-time, which ruled how border-to-border relations between the two states were covered, especially when it comes to bars and their music and all that goes with that. But then the fact that an employee gets locked in a safe and/or another such area and uses their wits to get out of a really bad situation? I guess there has to be an alleged murder involved for the new coverage to then pull away from what is the coolest new toy at Target …

So I waited this long before writing this column, until maybe, just maybe, the fodder of Year’s Eve might yield to the doldrums of January and there would be a followup. That would still be a few more hours, but reporters get schooled to think in terms of deadlines so … What follows is an analysis, if I can use that word, of just what was aired about the death incident itself. And its all been written as a criticism of sorts before, but never seems to take at the higher levels that determine any sort of nuance.

First, the city of Hudson was said to have a population of 14,000. Last I heard we were simply flirting with 10,000, where it had been for a bit, and the greater Hudson area has been listed around 50,000 and still growing, which again, is something the city hasn’t really been seeing. So I don’t know where the 14,000 figure came from, unless its really up to the minute with the Minneapolis transplants. And the online images that are always posted with such pieces, and really show nothing new if at all, because they can be pulled without ever sending a staffer out of the newsroom. They again showed all kinds of shots of the the “Hudson” dike sign, trite as ever, alth0ugh some were summer and some winter, and few if any actually said “file photo” underneath. These area reasons that many Hudsonites don’t really trust the Twin Cities media — or the Star-Observer either — and may view such papers and other news outlets even moreso with outright dislike.

If they really wanted to dredge up something interesting, they could point to Old Dibbo’s Days of bananas for free entry and virtual, before that had a different meaning, Fighting In The Streets, but most of their reporters probably had not been born yet. But some of the tales are still fresh in the minds of local elders, and they know that they frame how people Who Are Experienced view western Wisconsin. They were brought to mind when The Village Inn held a night with Austin Healy for a $10 entry — overpriced — and a buck or so off if you brought, you guessed it, a banana. You can get about 40 of them for a dollar across the way at Kwik Trip, so where goes social distancing when limos-full take full advantage? And that is in the village of North Hudson, not the city of Hudson.

And the local muck-ity-mucks were quick to put on it their own spin, carefully chosen, saying things like “this criminal entity is not normal here,” referring to some of the new local clientele, without giving any real hint on just who these people might be. (See a later post for more on that, as it may be continuing a trend that is not all that new).  Yes, you could say that entity might be here if you look at the increased litter by curbs and the doorways of shops in the wrong places, but I didn’t note much change in the occasion bits of vomit you might see there. The stabbings took place outside the Smilin’ Moose, which has had a certain level of rowdiness that the City Fathers tried to quell when they wouldn’t let the place take the actual name of its other franchise-and-connections from Minnesota, which I at the time thought was heavy handed, but now have to hand it too them. There has been too much of the ambulance-call-and-other-type-of-thing there. Just too much general drunkenness, but Covid had seemed to have put a limit to that. (And I will say, The Moose has been much better than other clubs with putting their money where their mouth is as far as mask requirements). Other comments were that trouble of this type can come if there is too high of a celeb rating, and other ways that bad can come from being desirable, such as the hazards these virus days of travel to other states.

I first heard of the death a bit after the fact, as I too have steered away from the downtown, like many locals, to a degree, but then heard it calling for a reunion, socially. And as far as my other hat, reporters don’t know things until others tell them. So I had to ask if the occasionally seen ruckuses had gotten any worse, when I did stop by, in this case at Dick’s Bar. The staffer looked disgusted, hadn’t I heard, and said there had been the death of someone he termed as a homeless person — they can be targeted in any city, but it was not the case this time — then glanced in a given direction up the street and said he didn’t want to talk about such a tragedy, look it up online.

In the news.

One Thing Leads To Another, or not, as people chose to pick and choose, putting out signs and other stuff for either Halloween or elections, but rarely both even though the two were — often jointly — topical. There was the blip, but only the blip, created over Thanksgiving, as even on what became to be called the Black Monday afterward, bars close to the shopping were ordered closed and largely and thusly not open to fill any void from not getting that Most Precious Toy, and we know you went close to typical bar time to try to rectify the situation. And how do and did they cope with this, in this new landscape of staying at home and the stir craziness it breeds — and maybe that is not the only thing who breeds? Why indeed signing in and putting up your Christmas lights and such, usually in the front yards of fairly modest homes, as early as the time when Labor Day passed, to pass the time — and people have been using their cooped up energy for months, devoting it to a whole range of home improvement projects, very often much larger in scope than chance would dictate, and shelling out plenty of money for a contractor and/0r a sub, or just getting their sweat out themselves. So this takes in the trifecta of holidays, and with each that passes there is a vast change in the number of small but largely home, lawn and garden remodeling ads that appear, at times almost a dozen, with new ones always popping up, at the intersection of Sommers and Sixth. I Don’t Know Why. But I do know, what about New Years …

If I only can hold out a few more minutes … That’s the timetable set by my elections editor with Associated Press, where their version of overtime pay kicks in — 1 a.m. Still, not a bad work day, since the polls did not close until 8 p.m. or possibly a bit thereafter, depending on who you talk to. So thanks to her fielding several phone calls on, uhm, what was that 800 call center number again, I was able to hustle from my main hustle to my side hustle with UPI — oh oh, did I violate my agreement of not also working for the competition, and double dipping when it comes down to double candidates? OK, just kidding and by the way, does UPI still exist, at least here in the States? Maybe have to throw my hat in the ring with Reuters! After All, I’m For All I Can Get, If You Know What I Mean, and this worker-bee attitude can even be seen on the aforementioned and allegedly eighth continent, all of which just might be what Trump called the eighth wonder of the world — FoxConn. Does that number include the Trojan Horse?

— Eddie Van Halen is in the news, as referenced above, for having passed on. One of his favorite emulaties, (is that a word, and I’m sorry,  it is now), is the oft-mentioned Jeff Loven, the biggest, baddest one-man-band-in-town, OK the entire Twin Cities. He will get his first chance to display his likewise, often two-handed and lightning speed guitar skills in Hudson on Sunday night at Dick’s Bar. Front and center is likely to be his take on Eruption, I say take because he will typically add a fill or two, maybe via the whammy bar. Hey that’s what happens when a guitar shredder is stuck at home with the family for a couple or three months! And he is now back in fine form, so you be the judge.

Loven even won a contest, from similar guitar god Steve Via, back in his days when playing with the speed metal outfit Obsession back in the 1980s, and at that time posed and did a few licks with Van Halen himself. The photo of the two showed Loven rather Elf-like with his long hair, and was reminiscent of the late Ronnie James Dio in stature, by just a bit from when the two shared many a concert stage — and see the comparison extended when Loven recorded his Heavy Metal Polka at a bar east of Hudson a number of years back. For his part in the photo, Van Halen was looking much more like Van Damme then himself in later pix after cancer, sadly, prompted his death. He’d come a long way, well past when his band was dubbed Van Hagar, as was again noted by one of my friends the other night, and since racist comments about his mixed ancestry — partly Dutch — plagued him in early years. That would never have bothered my wife, who would often join me in dancing when the mega-hit Jump was played when we were at an event.

And I’m sorry to say, all this long-before-its-time-death reminds one on this side of the river about its now a few year’s old death by plane crash, taking a North Hudson pilot and also including some youngsters, in much the same manner and number, and age of the victims and the time of year, as the late Kobe Bryant. RIP to all.

You can’t make this shit up! So I will simply comment on the news and Trump it, and refer you to the hard core metal band Testament, the bastions of Good as they now are, and their latest Prophetic release, (and who says Hollywood, loosely speak, is not the real truth — note no question mark):
In order, as the Non-Rich understand these days in their social media:
— Showtime has delayed the erring, (or in their vernacular airing), of a “clash” broadcast that could, conceivably, if that is even now possible, air pro-Trump content via a debate. Clash? Listen to me sing the more astute punk rock version on Any Given Sunday, as Dick’s via Jeff Loven, as the source of new debate.
— Twitter has barred those who tell what we all are thinking, (again statute version). Look a few posts down and you will get what I mean. Dead Donald? Could be AT LEAST A LITTLE BIT WORSE, (attorneys insisted on all caps as a backup to the truth), as a Twit would say if British and Monty Python — when that’s your source of quality info, it’s hell to pay. And the source of this info? Allegedly (again covering my massive butt), Chinese propaganda was at tell, and at least that’s not the Russians.
— What if Trump would die, and I am sorry to say that it would indeed bother me greatly, we would then get Pence, at least for the time, but would that be more ala Six-Pence? A meaner than I commentator on social media noted that Melania could “remarry” Pence, as he might be young enough to Get It Up. Donald would have to cite his sources before going to His Reward.
I DO NOT WANT TO BE A DICK ABOUT THIS. I’m mouthing this stuff because I care about this country more than I care about wealth, and that’s rare. Information is a good thing, and the truth will rise to the top. (Check out the archives for the classic, Social Contract). So check out the single by Testament, that came out a few months ago, right when the virus fully took hold, called False Prophet, and they turned out to be the real prophet. It’s trademark line: “When you were reaching out for your God, was he there?” And again, note the upper case G. We could all learn something from such music, and it’s referred to right and left on this web site. Memo to Trump before he goes to meet his maker. Can we talk?

And part two of the NFL season. Game Day came and went and not too many people showed their (masked?) faces at sports bars, although this was an observation from shortly after halftime and before the Packers piled on to double up the score, again, and the win to go 2-0. As was said at the Village Inn, on their frequently spinning sign that offers multiple-at-one-time tacos on Tuesdays, (more on that street food at various venues later), and has been redacted close to the main highway: The Packers always have trouble beating the Bears at Lambeau. OK they don’t.

Being apropo goes back to the previous week’s sign, inside and slightly edited: Vikings offer (dictated) trade to North Korea to (dictate) that Kirk Cousins overthrow (the dictator). Also then, reports were that there would be only 2.500 fans allowed and spaced out at the game with Indianapolis. If in Minnesota, I would venture a guess that only an even thousand would have shown. And in the parking lot and beyond, there were a Packer Rag Doll Not Living In a Movie that was unstuffed at the bottom, then kicked to the curb, as this might have been a foray of things to come? And a blow tart where the end with the fruit was fashioned into what looked like a guitar; and the band would play on at halftime? And at Kwik Trip entering the beer vault where a couple both wearing masks, one the green way of Green Bay and another in black that was a cast away. Across the road at the new Guv’s Place, a group of three wandered out in the second half, and when questioned did not know exactly who was winning, much less the score. So curious where they (on behalf of I) checked and it was 24-10, but not to last this close. And alongside, who came pulling across the street, was a man with an Army football shirt. Was going to ask about Navy, but not time, so this game that didn’t feature those teams and will not until later in the year. This game didn’t peak his often two-cloud-of-dust, not three offense that would have required an air attack unlike they have done overseas. However the fight that continued over from the former NFC Central and Border Battle contest was not long in doubt — as some people walked to their cars and made room for those Two Minute Warning spectators. They might have Broke On Over To The Other Side via the NFL Direct Ticket advertised on KQRS radio more and more often as the outcome seemed certain.

Granted there are blackout games where people watch from home. but an opener would seem to be primo in more ways than just the pasta I have written about, and thus filing into the local TV game scene to mark the Grand Old Day first weekend. Along those lines, there were actually parking spaces empty, only a few but telling, at the places of the Village of North Hudson that is viral Packer coverage. The bars were not as full, as such follows, even though the six-foot-rule had been slightly redacted (the political word of choice these days) to make room for a few more tables, but not too many. And there even were bits of space at the bar rail, to help out the common good. To that end, outside patio big TVs got some attention, but not really too much, kind of like that old three and out. And Lions and Tigers and Bears, their games were also shown on the smaller TVs at the Village Inn, and there were patrons who seated themselves accordingly, although as has been noted this is indeed a Packer Bar. Still, more customer traffic came their way than occurred at US Bank Stadium, where it had been announced the day before that drivers could be more free wheeling with their lack of delays, since the stands had no one other than some photo guys working on top of what seemed like cherry pickers to safely do their thing. I saw this on TV at home at “Cherry” Circle North, and in our neighborhood, where there typically are more house parties than not, things were oddly absent, even with the lack of cars driving much of anywhere to get to such things. These who celebrated as such seemed to keep it at four cars in a driveway. What did they see? Head coaches wore masks that probably made it easier to call the next play from the sidelines and not be read by the lip-readers from the other sideline, but I’m guessing because of that, it took much more time to be in the huddle before the next span could be taken.

And on the topic of the NFL, sideline reporters were hard to be found, even the hotties as eye-candy — has Nestle taken advantage of this? — who’d actually come up with pertinent football questions of the Star Of The Day Or Night. It was not that way back on March 8, a full day and night of a world women’s day that was brought home by having the sports announcers be female, and the lead voices, not just for experts on gymnastics or color commentators (got to watch that word these days, I get that). It’s a safe bet that the old Lingerie Football League, where talented athletes who also had fit bodies wore basically bikinis, were not on the doubleheader game with flavor being provided by those who had been models then parlayed that into announcing, and were not just Talking Heads. But I do respect their skills for two reasons above all. The athletes were largely without protective pads and still provided a hit like Mike Singletary of the Old School Bears. And some of the QBs actually could throw a tight-rope strike 30 yards downfield, although it’s well known that women’s arms are generally better suited for things like underhand softball pitching than overhand Brett Favre-style fastballs.

Leave it to Jimmy John’s to put a must-wear-mask-sign on display in a way to prove a point, and of course deliver it home immediately. Fear not the darkness, as an educational sign front and forefront on the door had an unmistakable image of none other than Darth Vader wearing HIS signature mask and implied me-thinks that this could be the way many of us will go if we do not respect the new rules dictated by virus control. So we are Back In Black. And how to do that grill-out while again, respecting social distancing and the like? (Or just have Jimmy John’s, the pros, cater your come together). Or maybe have dad put up a sign by his George Foreman warning to stay a safe distance away, as determined by the equivalent of both his right and left arm, Foreman former tale of the tape length. It says he will turn up the heat big-time while producing the occasional flare of flame through the meat, and melt it in your mouth for the not faint of heart and palette when it gets that far, even more by loading on the cayenne pepper while himself wearing a dual-purpose mask. So the gist of his sign: Stay that six feet away from my (flaming) grill and we’ll live to do this again next year.

So how did we get to the point of closed being the new open? To take it back to the start and the streets, four months ago … It was just after dinnertime, on even a non-holiday weekend, but nowhere could be found to eat in in River Falls. The announcement was made that made it known to restaurant and bar owners, but the public needed to get up to speed. We caught up with Jennifer at her apartment complex on the near north end, which had signs for newer arrangements, being with the way to even make entry into the building. I was parked at the other end of the complex, and saw there was a firm word on where else to enter their three buildings without making  a squabble. That was not good for us, because nature was holding off and waiting to hear the music, to be sung in a way less intimidating then the virus. In short, I needed to use a bathroom, pronto, and people were not being left into the building without a serious purpose, and that did not include just visiting — as I was told up, down and around in the foyer by a middle-aged resident who had — A KEY. I thought this was all overly severe, as I had no idea how bad it was to get, with each passing day. Anyway, Jennifer was able to come on down, but I had bolted for Bob and Steve’s down the block by that time, and would they even be open, much less have restrooms being in use without loads of immediate sanitation?

With that opportunity pissed away, sorry about the pun, there would soon be others. Jennifer schooled me on the new decree, that went into effect at 5 p.m. You would think the reporter in me would have been on top of such an important announcement, but as I have often said, even us scribes don’t know the deal until someone tells us. Sometimes we are the last to know. The only place you were still really able to get to anything, and in a backwards way make a last celebration, was where Jennifer had been just a bit earlier, that being Emma’s for a sort of happy hour, where they had off-sale still going until just after 6 p.m. and you had to actually enter the venue to get it, as everyone was having to redact fast and read through the more than a dozen pages of rules, differing by the state you were in, as to what was safe and what was legally actionable. Puff Puff Glass had their lights on to quite a bit later, as did McDonalds in multiple locations, presumably just for drive through. Then back in Hudson, there was more of that, as Buffalo Wild Wings was one of those ahead of the curve, already having more than one sign up they they still, indeed, had takeout available, as everyone was figuring out the new rules. Cold Stone Creamery appeared to still be going with a bit of traffic coming through. At the relatively new Mexican place, the lights were on and the owner was still scrambling around, with the door not yet locked. And this was to be more of what you would see in coming days, that Stay At Home did not mean that business owners chose to not be on site, rather they would be in, with minimal lighting, in a back office doing the newly needed raft of paperwork, as well as payroll, and I did not know how they would get this out to their employees. But the lots were empty in most places, as the new no-dining-in rules and how to work with them were being read up on (largely from this web site). An exception was an occasional car at the local laundromat in both the village and city.

What you expect more? You just have to wait for these stack of stories, but if you’re Lucky, and that’s what we’re thinking, it will only be an hour or two before it really starts to hit, not on Irish-style time. After all, if people have the patience and fortitude to get through the potato famine and other really big headaches that are like the ones you wind up with too much Irish whiskey, and they can still believe in a future including a Pot O’ Gold, they don’t mind walking to the pub for a bit until the news comes out, and you know, they might even have some of that walk come their way along the way by meeting up with a leprechaun. Me think’s the Irish don’t  deal with deadline devotion, rather of course, other types. See I  gave you something anyway, even though it may not carry quite the same punch as a good ol’ Guinness.