Take this as a piece to mull over, now, now, as it pertains to football only. Up a few blocks there are a pair of extended-height tree stumps, each wrapped in gaudy strings of lights, like something you might buy in a bathroom at a nightspot. Colors of the two particular ones are one purple and one gold. Then I wish to note there are the glowing lawn lights packed in still-present snow just up the street. Not to be risque, but one might say, to make a comparison the Vikings were going up and the Packers were going down. But since one of those bulbs under the snow surface was red, and actually one gold too, you might add that the San Franscisco 49ers were on the rise also and even more so, defeating the Packers in the NFC championship game, and then another Red team, the Kansas City Chiefs in the Super Bowl, much like what actually played out in U.S. war history.
This post continues with quips about how we got to the game of games, (and a later post will follow about that ultimate contest), which was won like the west with both the rushing game to start the two-game swing, and the passing of QB Patrick Mahomes to finish. As a halftime ad put it, Leave it all out on the table, which HudsonWiNightlife has done about most of the playoffs until now, as its Funner to the final second, as was appropo with the the 49s being championship-material in the final minutes if not seconds.
Not to drag with this like an instant relay, we will tell the war of the roses, so to speak, often in the terms of more colors and metaphors, so here goes:
The Packers run to the playoffs ran into a dead end, and they ran out of luck, when facing the run-based 49ers, who used the rush to run Green Bay into the ground, although not flat-out running the table ( is that a run-on sentence?)
The Packers did run the table one-game longer than the Vikings, winning their first game against the Seattle Seahawks. But if across the river, this was one big and wide question, to take center-stage a week earlier.
The Purple People had a cloudy query in their headgear, and unlike Einstein it was not subtle, “Will Theilen be able to play?” Yes was a possible answer to that key question, if judging by the violet jerseys for him that abounded about town, and teamed with hats, although not helmets, that included dreaded Green Bay. Turns out they’d need the injured star to go forward to win. And when cleaning up the house with my Viking spouse, we came across a postseason mug in the name of those dreaded Eagles. More green. (I will say the logo shown is very much like that on Minnesota helmets). Are either of these things street legal?
The question apparently was answered at the Village Inn in North Hudson, on its big sign that’s a jog off the main drag. It declared itself Packer country, and backed it up by showing the whole U.S. on a green and gold colored map, with a great big G over the Rockies (road) and over to the West Coast. I guess that would make it the much sought after G Spot. And a few days later, but current by HudsonWiNightlife standards, was a leaping deer with a G Spot where to borrow from The Grinch in this season, his heart should be. Aww. Or am I mixing up things with a colorful lawn decoration nearby?
But back to Thielen. A guy at the can dropoff spot was beaming and then pointed to his head. Turns out that his work helmet had been fashioned into a Viking thingee, although the only horns were the ones painted on — three inches long, and therefore not nearly as big as the ones of his ancestors. He was guardedly confident in his teams Saturday chanches, although as he said, these are the Vikings. Ouch. Regardless, he planned to witness the result, although he’d have to hurry since the closing of his shop was at the odd time of 11:45 a.m. Stop by Kwik Trip to get game grub first, as time would allow, like the two-minute warning that actually takes another ten. And at that store recently, they were wearing not Packer/hunting gear, or Viking helmet-style horns, but chicken hats including waddles, which may or may not be appropo, depending on your favorate squad, but inevitably a bit pathetic. So I queried a couple of the workers there, Why did the chicken cross the road? To get quickly to the other side, as was late for his shift. Alas, one of the workers said, he hadn’t heard any chicken jokes to that point.
And we shift over to a conversation in that enemy state, at a watering hole that caters to of all teams the Chicago Bears. It was in advance of the starting game of this column’s concern, and there was one other person in the bar. But the bartender assured me that give it a couple of hours the place would be almost as hopping as if the Bears had squeaked in and barely made the playoffs. Packers more of a question, but in doubt, refer to that Big G..
And what of the Viking season, now ended. There is a new logo, same look, same old result, except the Viking braid is shorter. Did this mean its time for a haircut? However, that could also sap their strength even further, as assistants are looking for other employment. The score, however, was even when a friend was given a big Packer ring, and responded she is always from the other side. So we ended up having both of them.
And Green Bay does so carry on, and the sign at Kozy Korner sums it up with a double meaning. Scout group (insert the troop number with the one of your kids). Go Pack go! And concerning the Border Battle, the Pack was not yet catching flack.

Christmas is more than egg nog, as it hits River Falls $1 beer, even though Rudolph might steer far enough off course from the north pole, when negotiating his way through Canada, to only hit Colorado:
— And just where might these places be, like the closely guarded secret that is the location (locally?) of Santa’s workshop? And created is all kinds of art, but sorry exclusions at the upcoming low price include egg nog. But leading the way, for a meager $1.50 you get Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, Cherry Pepsi, Sprite, Root Beer, Crush or Mountain Dew, and also coffee, iced tea or lemonade. And don’t forget a nearby haunt up past the Hill, where many such items on this kind of list are below a dollar and can fuel your artistic endeavors, too. Might be enough to make you go back to the drawing board, and take in that very place, Cheers Pablo. Or fuel other endeavors that have nothing to do with a brush, unless you’ve just gotten a couple of those River Falls, college town, $1 beers bought for you, and are working on your hair as well as getting that guy to take you home for non-holiday-related cheerfulness.
— Last time, I reported that a copies of the Cat in the Hat, latter part of the name, may have been beheaded, setting in the highway median, and you know how long construction crews take to move non-working-man-stuff on out? Did ISIS do it, well no, these were merely oddly colored and striped pylons. But would the lingering holiday effect make the Fat Cat headstrong, like almost all kitties are? Or quite religious (OK that’s a stretch). But the Lutherans have their Reformation Day right at Halloween. I swear that a lyric from my childhood was, “He lives my ever living head.” Bone in?
— Two are one in busy North Hudson businesses in their mens bathrooms. First was a sign above the toilet saying to please be gentle, the flush lever is working hard; isn’t that what she said? And speaking of flush, perhaps it would be appropriate for the man — sorry men — showing the more-then-mustache drawing on a sign at the Village, namely a big bad eyebrow extending up the right side of his forehead, and blips all over an ad for work as a — guess what — bartender.
— The three and one are singing their swan songs, involving cars. Recent deaths have been Rick O’Kasic of The Cars, Gary Numan who sings about cars, or a bigger ticket, Eddie Money, or always gets his thrill ride behind the wheel. Then U of M Coach Doug Woog wrestled with death and eventually succumbed. My connection with this scene, such as it is, is that when barely legal, I kissed all the girls at a house party to start the ’80s, as they were sitting on couches in an informal line. And listening to The Cars.
And with that printed here is my admonishment to get singing now, for you never know, the coming forces of Halloween evil (who work well into Xmas) might bring you ‘shorter of breath and one day closer to death’
It became Quick Six, not quite times ten, but for several others celebrating with a quick fix on the same otherwise slow night, it was also time to get singing You Say Its Your Birthday, and the traditional song is always a part of it (hopefully there won’t be that unfortunate soul who feels an obsessive need to harmonize, “and many more.”)
— As these things go, at least I’m just the other side of 60. And a bartender friend said that rather than my just turned 58 years of age, I look 56. (Some have said more like 40, when I have my literal grayish beard — or is it white — shaved off). Be that as it may, I ran into old friend Stacy on my birthday weekend — as an aside she looks just like Kate Hudson, really, but a younger version as Kate has had more than a few additional birthdays. Stacy said it was not only her birthday that day, but that of three of her friends who also were celebrating there, not to mention a fifth birthday girl at the other end of the bar. They made up a full half of the patronage that night. Stacy wanted to make this an announcement, so she stood up and clinked her glass, (but make no mistake about it, not for a birthday kiss, I’m too old). But there’s more. The next night it was Jeff Loven’s birthday, so he had a sub musician come in, and there was even one more birthday girl who ended up getting thrown in the mix. The antithesis to all this celebrating is Matt, who is a very good and valued friend of Hudsonwinightlife, who has proclaimed that now turning 40, he is done forever with birthdays, even if there is a party involved.
Ditto with my dad, who whom I made some tentative plans to swoop up mom (who is more into music and loved a past karaoke night with me, and even wanted to stay in the crowd when I was ready to call it a night) and celebrate his birthday with a downtown band. It fell short because everyone needed to get to bed early, and mom said, if you had made this offer 10 years ago … But she is well versed in Bruce Springsteen, for example, whereby dad has never even heard of Ozzy Osbourne and for a long time considered all this Devil’s Music — he particularly didn’t like Revelation (Mother Earth) even though being a Bible Thumper — and mom, being the stereotypical German, felt obliged to follow suit when voicing her opinions. So when they come for MY birthday, its usually just stay home and foresake the local festivals as everyone took a nap, there was no going to any kind of harvest fest. An end note: When the noted local musician, the late Jeff Johnson, who even got a lot of mainstream national airplay over decades, said he wanted local celebritities to sing on his concept album and I was asked, and I told my dad I was flattered by the invite, and he shot back that they’re probably just a bunch of potheads. I said I didn’t know these musicians that well, just sing or song or two with them, and I don’t know what they do backstage! But I told dad, I didn’t respond about what I was going to do going forward with this possibility, just considered it nice to be in the same company as, say, my old friend Rebecca Kolls. And even though Jeff said he had written a song especially for me to sing, I wasn’t quite comfortable as being characterized as a “local celebrity,” although I’ve heard that term used many times since.
— And the new, sorta, car shows go on, and will surely be put on substantial display at one of the latest organized gatherings. There was the bumblebee with a flair of black flame, another car where the exact color ratio was a bit checkered, and then one more where yes, the base color was yellow, but there were literally hundreds of small decals decorating it up. And lastly, there was seen a bright neon car that could without winter coming be one of those environmental thingees not much bigger than a golf cart — even though that was often seen — that also had a burst of flame on the side door. And among others, would they be at the recent Willow River Car Club show in the town of Hudson? That recent Saturday had showers but only scattered, and a rain date was listed for the following day. Hopefully between the two …
— The Surly brew production area is open 24 hours, it was announced. They say that they’d prefer to be open 25, and would use that time to brew more beer. I think the Wisconsin drinkers made that a given — as they love their Surly without hopefully getting surly — or for sure the fact that there is a dark beer patterned after First Avenue in Minneapolis, touted at Darkness Days in Somerset, that is available even in the Badger State (insert geography references).
— Again about that eye-sore one-room wreck of a house on Monroe Street in North Hudson. Workers finally appear to be working overtime to put a finish to it getting rehabbed. Hence the big concrete pouring truck that blocked the entire street. If you wanted to make your late-night run from Season’s Tavern over to Starr’s Bar, as that would be the logical route, as if you’d be sober enough to micro-manage such details, you’d be screwed, to make another construction reference.
It is again, the time of year for all things pumpkin, but that’s old hat, like the deer hunting hats being seen, yes 24/7, all over while they are still in a current mode. More timely is the fact that Kwik Trip just opened their North Hudson store, the most important thing of consequence to the north of the existing local shops, after several days of somewhat glaring, yes orange, bold lighting to announce their likely to be primo local presence that is spilling over all the turn-lane instructure that was installed in large part to benefit their sure-to-change-the-local-scene-presence as far as a player in the market. So back to pumpkins. If you hurry north, as there are still many remnants of their killer grand opening remaining, you can still get on special a fantastic cup of pumpkin spiced brew, also with cinammon, brown sugar and vanilla. And many kinds of brew for free, again for a limited time, although even after its less than a buck. These things are highlighted by the fact that there are many, many bottles of sweetner to add to the experience, even though what we’re assuming was an added pumpkin mix seemed to be sold out at times. Must be good. And also a free coupon, among many, for milk, (I think the cow is still available, but she may only be on-call to provide certified freshness — just kidding!) Don’t forget to factor in the Kwik Trip special of bananas, potatoes and onions for only 39 cents per pound, it was 28, and being offered as an added incentive is a free first pound of some of those things, although of the three, the banana part was the latest to be a freebie. You could you dip that banana in the pumpkin coffee for one more, quasi-tropical flavor in our northwoods. Just don’t try the same with onion. Potato? Eh, maybe.
What do you have when, eh maybe, you are putting on a church meal to cook and honor all nationalities in a universal way? Hot dish, of course, being the area’s Scandinavian ethnicity. But what about all the other worldwide ethnic groups.
— Slaving away on Thanksgiving Eve and well beyond, you’ve know doubt heard of turducken, with the three layers of three kinds of fowl. What you may not know is there are so many layers to fight/dig through that kitchen utensils sometimes break off and are lost inside the chicken, and this is no rubber chicken.
— This idea about a breakout gone wrong. Bring in a fruitcake to give to an inmate, that’s been regifted a few times, and the crust was so hard they could not get out the hack saw. Also bantied about is a (great? As in Linus’s pumpkin?) trick or treating gift that keeps on giving, as began being marketed early, although its not fully candy, and even is somewhat nutrional. It also might need one of those Scaaary little plastic containers, or possibly a shot glass. I’m referencing the Halloween plug, as it is portrayed at County Market, for on-special Kemp’s chocolate milk. Take it out now, much later but still OK like fruitcake, and make it into egg nog? And for when they bring it home, the adults can mix and match with the candy and make the equivalent of a hot toddy meets Blizzard, and join in on the fun with the youngsters.

There is still time to eat like the authentic good ‘ol Irish as we move into winter and celebrate some of the events. A good way is to eat and thus become the champions of things such as Farls and flatbread, and you can find them at Paddy Ryan’s in the town of Hudson:
Flatbread with lots of toppings leads the party menu for gatherings for Halloween and days onward as it is that holiday season and all this becomes an official guide for Irish authenticity in entrees at Paddy Ryan’s. Dinner is served and incorporates both styles of Irish observance, traditional mostly and also contemporary, for between the affordable $10.25 and $11.25 at Paddy Ryan’s. You can continue, in short form, to attend eatery-based events there that smack of Halloween, and patterned after the original Samhain worship. These having great staying power into the following holiday weeks, in offering some of the following trademark fare for the faithful. These highlight fruit baked-in as it was in the Old Country — rather than the pounds of sweets gathered these days while trick-or-treating — although that also has old Irish roots. But the newer Irish also, including Paddy Ryan’s, still is much different from the candy always gathered today by children, as you continue to top off your eats with these types of authentic adult fare there:
— Build Your Own Farl, your choice of red or white sauce, tomato, green olives, onions, red pepper, mushroom, sausage or rasher:
— Reuben Farl, boasting very tender corned beef that is a Paddy Ryan’s staple, braised cabbage cut just right, and tomato with an Irish cheese sauce topped with an Irish cheddar.
The similar Soul Cake is part of the practice of Souling for trick or treat, which was hoped to make sacrifices on behalf of participants dressed in ways that they resemble the gods, and placate them for fortitude and good conditions throughout the winter after summer fades. Take in the Paddy Ryan’s ongoing take on such recipes.
The actual carving of pumpkins began with use of turnips for that purpose, as they had flames burning inside that would provide protection. This is but one of the practices of the current version of Halloween activities that began with pagan ritual, which also provided a lighted candle as a guide in the night, and allowed places where people gather, such as pubs, to have an original lighted decoration that can sit on any table in the dining area or shelf. They did look creapier than what we have today — isn’t that what its all about, but not so much that appetites are taken away regarding the dozens of such options at places such as Paddy Ryan’s. And if need be, if someone needs to follow up by drinking it down, and washing away the strong taste, there is Irish Whiskey available in the form of scores of diverse varieties. And there should be only a scant need for feeling this could be akin to a potato famine, but when needed the Irish can be creative, so you’ll always be able to get the authentic Irish version of Boxty dishes, which draw from the idea of a potato pancake.

As we referenced earlier, in a redo from previous publishing, was the loud football cheering heard from across the street from Starrs Bar. (A man yelled into his Wisconsin beer over the rest of the din “Packers score,” as if that clarification was needed).
Also heard on the street corner by the Smilin’ Moose as two people compared notes on their teams, with a commonality. What? You’re green? No, gold. It seems as far as the team of loyalty, they could go either way — and being color blind is also possible. But are all of them, especially if you’re a Raiders fan, black and white?
One driver of my car — do I indeed have a chauffeur? — said this of the hottie at the intersection on Game Day: “You got the green going.” And then the second time around, yeah its your color, a viewpoint that was stated a stone’s throw from The Village Inn sports bar. And third time’s the charm, this was said in line at the Freedom Value Center: “What, now, its a green thing?” Why is that vital? Next in line was someone with a Viking purple jersey without any number on the chest. Is that legal?
Next is a story about Magic Mike and two football-themed cakes, one with frosting of purple and gold, and the other green and gold, although Mike himself is not anything of a football fan. The note I left was about who gets their vote, my wife from Edina (Vikings), myself from central Wisconsin (Packers), and Mike (undesignated delegate from parts unknown).
And then there was the woman with a violet shirt and bright green hat — bipolar? OK, the shirt was fading. But one thing that was not fading is the purple stripes on a jogger’s shirt, to go with her, again, bright green hat. The the third time around, likewise, was the jogging lady with a St. Paul Saints sweatshirt and Minnesota Twins hat. These are slow speed joggers, not fast running backs.
I didn’t think God took sides with the whole football thing, even though it is usually played on Sundays. The sidewalk chalk wording outside the Purple Tree store, which is operated in a social justice sense largely by people of faith, read Skol Vikings! But note that this is the PURPLE Tree.
— The announcement has been made. All nearby parking patrons behold. Ever noticed the new parking payment kiosks downtown, many of which have been around for weeks, stating on their hoods that they will be coming soon. Uhm, aren’t they here already?
— One of those obnoxious machines that tell you what speed you are driving has actually been put up in North Hudson at — get this — a stop sign at a T-intersection. If you get a 28 mph reading, woe be to you!
— One of those big posters that display football schedules has in this case made its listing without even mentioning what is the home team, while the logo of its sponsor, Coors Light, takes up the lower one-third of the poster. The only reference to the Wisconsin Badgers is on a tiny decal in one corner, planted there as part of a football.
— This could be the sow’s ear that is the antithesis to the recent Bacon Bash at River Falls. A television commercial shown in town was called a whiskey bacon burger. This one gets my vote! And across the way in Hudson, the band The Whiskeys was performing. Coincidence? However, by all accounts, the versatile veteran but predictable bands at the fest were as solid of performing as is typical.
— Its hard to get overheated in fall, but this woman at the Smilin’ Moose appeared to be there. Despite the fact that she already was sporting a bare midriff, she was flapping the bottom of her short shirt to get her chest vented.
— Bigtime reconstruction continues on the old More-4 building downtown. So I guess you can no longer chug some high-calorie booze courtesy of the Spirit Seller, then work off the extra weight at the next-door, all-hours fitness center.

And Wayne whaled on a Wicked guitar, and then came all those patrons waiting on watch for Watchtower, cuz you never know when …
— Booster Days lives on through Jeff Loven. The one-man-bander put away his guitar and yielded the stage recently to the guitarist, named Wayne, from Wicked Garden for more than one set, much longer than the normal stand-in appearance. This was after the grunge tribute band was one of the acts at Booster Days a few weeks earlier. But they collaborated on all kinds of guitar-driven rock, beyond just Nirvana and Stone Temple Pilots, so Dick’s Bar for a night became Wayne’s World. Like when the car the next lane over, and there are a lot of such lanes, on the infamous triple-left-turn-lane here that was the first of its kind for the country (good for that), had its younger then grunge members banging their heads. To of all things System of a Down. Very mosh-able.
— At another recent one-man-band night, in honor of Bob Dylan’s birthday, I just had to sing my second, lesser standard with Jeff Loven (first off is Should I Stay Or Should I Go by The Clash). That number is All Along the Watchtower, which I can go to, but only rarely, once in a while if I request to do so — and yes although Jimi Hendrix made it famous, Dylan was the guy who actually penned it a short time earlier. But what Jeff, no Happy Birthday song, which is kind of your schtick? And because Dylan in no spring chicken, I won’t even suggest the comedic, heavy metal B-Day version he does, which is tongue-in-cheek about the idea that with every birthday you get closer to … you know … And now there is Mick Jagger’s birthday. Does that mean that in the ultimate cowbell competition held each Sunday, featuring a guest “player” who is usually a hottie, would automatically be the Standard Stones played, (think Honky Tonk Woman), not other classic compilations with “the bell.”
— And Back in Black. There is That Girl at Dick’s from a while back who looks just like Abbs on NCIS, down to the Goth, who now is being retired from the cast. So with that extra time on her hands, you might see even more of her downtown … She’s back!
— The recent downtown Hudson bar crawl was well attended, even very early, as people were working on themes, some of them involving weddings and even prompting a bride to show up in her white dress.
— Hey, it is (or was) Lumberjack Days, and that’s where people were trekking, with vehicle-type after vehicle-type, more than what you usually see, even though summer is here. Especially the same old ZZ Top-type truckish thingee and also, a few times over, trucks that were basically rust bucket red, not to mention some long and lean vintage Cadallacs, (no Dead Head sticker, with apologies to the Eagles). The heat, though, could make these cars overheat before they could cross the bridge. Or, they could be a vicarious part of that motorcycle run in River Falls, the other end of things, that ended up at the Lazy River Bar in River Falls after also being in Beldenville, El Paso (yes there is such a place in Wisconsin) and Menomonie. Sorry, no more information, as the owner at Lazy River hung up on me. Twice. But the drivers might have to take a different route then up the Wisconsin side, as the new bridge had a lane closure, which would mean that the leading band in Stillwater, Soul Asylum, could not stop back again at Pudge’s for off-sale, as they did at least once back in Ozz Fest days, without going out of their way. (Now that its Ziggy’s, Dave Pirner could conceivably make amends for his former lack of a tip). And one other tip: You could get one of those cool temporary tattoos, like my friend Jenny, who loved it but could not decide what bird her’s was, falcon or pheasant.
— Football is now here, if only the preseason version, so I’ll focus instead on the X-Games that were on the tube for four hours the other night from Minneapolis, (could this have been a rerun? Would stoners know the difference?) But anyway, patrons from right here in Hudson said there were a lot of people partying downtown on both Friday and Saturday nights, most barely of age, so that would lend credence … But they didn’t stay until close. A curfew?
— Hey, she’s only nine, but she’s with the band. This youngster took lessons at Brickhouse Music in River Falls, so she can play and sing as part of a showcase that goes with people who get lessons there. But what are the songs? Not exactly the dance music you’d expect from a pre-teen. We’re talking Iron Man by Black Sabbath, Sunshine of Your Love by Cream, and one more by Deep Purple. So, she said to her mom, what is Ozzy singing about? That one mom could handle. But what about Cream and what is meant by “my seeds are dried up?” For that one you might want to talk to your vocal instructor! But seriously, mom had a version of the birds and the bees talk with her, and it all went fine.
— Two young women were exploring an interesting pasttime while leaning over the railing at that upper patio of the Smilin’ Moose — they were dropping things on unsuspecting guys below. And what were they tossing? Sticks of gum, then announcing that several times to each recipient as they passed. Juicy Fruit or Big Red? To freshen their breath for (?!?)
— A woman was walking down the sidewalk with her friend, and like you see so often, carrying her shoes in her hand. Or make that just one shoe. And that was the (bare) foot that stepped on an already crushed plastic cup as she neared the curb. Then there was this predicament, FROM HER PAST: A friend said she was told to walk the line after being stopped by the police, but she was wearing four-inch, spike-healed boots and found she needed to negotiate the icy pavement that may have even been at an angle. Still, she said she made it through.
— This could be the start of a bad joke: Two guys were walking a canoe down the sidewalk … But they indeed were, to get three more blocks to a late night on the river, which was full of other canoeists, boaters and fishers as an adjunct to a local summer music festival.
— I was just coming up the way from passing a salon on the main drag, which had an ad in their window about providing long lashes and wonderous nails that read they are to die for. That’s when I saw an old friend while going into Agave that was just dripping with such lovely eye appendages, and looked like she was anything but being on death’s door. No pale zombie factor here, and the whole thing played out again when I just saw her a second time the other night. But earlier, she followed me to go upstairs to the Bullpen Cantina before the obvious compliment came from me — but beforehand the also lovely bartender Andrea, who is well-known for singing the national anthem at prominent sporting events, at times even being transported to do so, noted that such music was flowing from speakers that — also — were located across the street.
— One of the new downtown parking payment kiosks, set up on the sidewalk in complete form to take fines, had this note attached late one night: We will soon have new pay kiosks available, but they are not here yet. OK? Back to the Future? What was that montrosity that the note was on.
— When crossing West Seventh Street in St. Paul to try out one of the proliferation of hockey bars, I noticed there was a beautiful blonde a step or so behind me. She had been directly aside me as we waited for the better part of a minute for the light to turn from red. So why does it take so long, I proposed to her? The light doesn’t switch to green until mold grows all over it, I blundered. She managed only the faintest of a smile, but when my backwards gaze lingered for a moment, (I’ve been accused of doing that), the corners of her mouth did turn up a bit. The people in the Cities can truly be this Minnesota Un-Nice, I’ve known since being essentially a Hudson bureau person for the St. Paul Pioneer Press back in the former millennium, cranking out stories that the Star-Observer wouldn’t touch then running them into the SPPP late, and needing to cross a few sidewalks and encountering smug people, to get to their oversized Cedar Street headquarters. People are actually much more friendly in Hudson, won’t mind someone they don’t know just saying hello.
— Well before the (official) fireworks went off in July, a haze could be seen over Second Street as you came into Hudson from the north and again, North Hudson. Apparently somebody got the party going early, bigtime, with the big stuff, and it again apparently made the vision, literally and figuratively, of all those people in our multitude of magazines see a bit hazy. And the locals have it over on those from around the world as far as seeing clearly. Somehow the marketing departments didn’t coordinate anything amongst their various magazine clients. Nicole Kidman was seen glowing on the covers, with her red Irish hair, of two different and competing women’s magazines sitting right next to each other on the rack. Then only minutes later I saw a quite young server lass to whom I told, trying to be complimentary and not creepy, that her face and hairstyle looked just like the classic but indeed getting a bit older actress. The just-past-late-teen server’s unintentionally funny reply: “Who’s Nicole Kidman?”
— These are two different ends of the same vehicle frame that was cruising. First I saw a very classic truck (read very old) that was through-and-through rust colored because of its paint job, not colored because of its rust, even though the steel chassis was starting to come apart on the edges. Then there was a much newer sports car, top shape, of a similar color aside from the fact it was more like burnt orange. And on and on with the scenario …
— What this place needs is a good cigar. Or a pair of good looking women smoking a good cigar. Thus, it was good to see two ladies sitting outside the downtown cigar shop and lounge, joining the guys and enjoying a wide range of good tastes, sights and sounds using stogies.

Paddy Ryan’s in Hudson came to the rescue of some nursing home residents dozens of miles to the east into Wisconsin who loved their corned beef and cabbage, even though their ad hoc leader was admitted for not only one knee replacement rehabilitation in March, but another such separate procedure on the other knee in summer.
So the Irish pub and grill in western Wisconsin played Santa Claus, even though it was St. Patrick’s Day, and then replicated that role in the weeks following the Fourth of July, as the aforementioned leader could not do her usual stint of indulging in a decades-long tradition with a friend of munching on the classic Irish fare in St. Paul because of being on the mend — twice over — for a couple of weeks each. In fact you could make that three times a charm because the northern suburb friend, who is Polish not Irish but still has loved their annual-or-more corned beef dinner since well before the turn of the millennium, also had a knee replacement surgery in summer. And now that they both are healed, they say they will make it over to Paddy Ryan’s, soon and often, to start a new tradition!
If Paddy Ryan’s can do their regular menu of traditional meets modern Irish, so great by all accounts, think how special their specials are for St. Patrick’s Day itself, including but not limited to the prized corned beef and cabbage, which many said is the best they have ever tasted, and accompanying vegetables that every piece had the perfect level of doneness. And of course for that whole weekend of both holidays, the diverse and lengthy regular fare of dozens and dozens of choices — such as boxtys — was also available, but in both cases needed to be delivered through a courier who also is a writer for this publication. It was on a Saturday afternoon or two that I took in the event(s) so readers know what they could expect to find, when going either later that night or during that next day, a Sunday, in both cases, the earlier of the two being so lauded by all who are Irish.
The so-called leader of this crew from the nursing home, the Hammond Health Care Center, my wife Jeanie Winter, loved this food from Paddy Ryan’s, just as it came. Yes, the corned beef was superior, and she agreed with me about all its attributes: “Mmm. Yummy, yummy.” But there had been more of the same prior to that, as she always saves the best for last when eating. In particular, Jeanie said the cabbage was partially the shredded way I described it, but also further to the middle had a roll-up quality she had become used to. She seemed to appreciate having a good dose of both styles. The meal, in all: “This is just wonderful.”
The following is what others in Hammond said. The other people at the table at the nursing home, and the various staff members — Jeannie gleamed when they happened by, as she showed them all what had been brought to her — all had heard of Paddy Ryan’s, even though they were way across the county. But her new friend Sharon McCarthy across the table said she had been to Paddy Ryan’s many times, St. Patrick’s Day and otherwise even though she has lost most of her mobility, and it was always a great experience, as she and her husband, who had recently passed on, had made it their go-to place for romantic dinners . But for today it would have to be for her the house-made ravioli, as Jeanie was not giving up her corned beef, at least not right away, and her friend, still being new in that capacity, was too polite to ask.
And the ultimate tribute? (I say this with tongue planted in cheek, which would make it hard to eat even the tender Paddy Ryan’s corned beef). I do the cooking around the house, and usually it gets thumbs up from Jeanie. So as a sentimental addendum, since I didn’t know until the weekend that she would indeed get the corned beef and cabbage that she so deeply loves, I had made her a dish myself, hoping it might have romantic appeal. It was heavy on potatoes and other such vegies that I thought would have Irish overtones.
I gave it to her second, immediately after the Paddy Ryan’s delicacies, and her response? Sorry Joe, the corned beef and cabbage is just too good, so I’m sticking with only that. Thanks for the thought, but you’ll just have to munch down on your loaded potato dish yourself. I was not too offended, as I’ve failed as a cook before, but then I came across this connection. The nursing home had a “potato bar” with fixings in their activity room on Friday, which was the day when everyone such as staff and residents actually celebrated their St. Patrick’s Day and dressed in green, but despite my lengthy suggestion to her that this could be a precursor to corned beef and cabbage, Jeanie took a pass. Could this be a subconscious behavior to make more room for that massive dose of corned beef, etc., later in the weekend?
Rehabbing from corn beef and cabbage
In the second time over, I had again had left more than half of each type of food on my plate — a bountiful supply — since I was going to take it “home” to my temporarily bedridden wife, who is VERY Irish, to sample. So on each occasion I asked for a carryout box, along with a brief explanation of who it was for and why. It did take a few minutes to arrive — but in the continuing theme of great service, I was asked three times if I needed anything else in the interim — however, there was a reason for the brief torpor. The kitchen topped off the other end of things for my wife bigtime, namely loading up a bunch more food, filling the box to the brim!
A note here. My wife, Jeanie, 60, loves her corned beef and cabbage, but it appeared that this time around, she might miss out on this for perhaps the first time in her adult life, as it is a tradition for her to go with a longtime friend and Catholic co-worker to Fabulous Fern’s in St. Paul. She would come all the way from Lindstrom for their gathering(s). Now in summer they had both undergone unusually tricky knee replacement surgeries, two times longer under the knife than usual, making this the trifecta. Jeanie has a few other faves there like bread pudding, however the CBC is the must-have. But Paddy Ryan’s to the rescue! Almost like another gift from Santa, but that’s a different holiday. So if you can’t go to the corned beef and cabbage, have it come to you, and worry about taking in the other fine Irish goodies at Paddy Ryan’s later. And so I became the courier, times two.
And maybe this will not be the only time, we all remember thinking at that earlier occasion, as there was then that other replacement procedure, on the other knee, set for summer.
This go-round was also orchestrated to be the 99th birthday celebration of one of the nursing home residents, Delores Sprecht, who had her actual birthday with her family a few days earlier, but made it a point to schedule it as a top off to her feasting. And talking about starting new traditions, she passed along that maybe this could be redone when she turns 100! It also, ironically, this was the birthday of Jeanie’s sister Mariah, who also obviously is Irish, and was in the Twin Cities from Oregon, but despite always loving such a celebration, could not make it as her flight was soon going out and their was family business to attend to. Guess we had to choose which B-Day to honor! As did Zlotkowski, who was not able to make Fabulous Fern’s in summer since they had closed due to choosing not to renew their lease, and instead — in a case of providence? — had managed to make it in June to Cecil’s Deli, just several blocks away. But it just wasn’t the same.
The following also was different, as in summer I had an Irish friend as a guest in my trip to Paddy Ryan’s, Jennifer Kohl, who said that the boxtys, with just the right mix of creamy cheese and just a bit of crust, might even be better than the fish she would typically order with her mom on their frequent visits there from Hudson proper. “We used to come here almost every week,” before they both got ready to move residences, she added. Kohl noted that her dad is a chef with the mostest, so this is high praise. And she loved her drink — Irish whiskey laced? — which was strong on the apple flavoring. Even though we ordered, to share, simply the boxty, with a touch of corned beef, we ended up with two plates of food. The proprietor brought out the dishes, especially the last facet, right away, meaning Kohl had a new rival to her favorite macaroni and cheese. She added that she’s had so many of their dishes over time, that she has a hard time remembering all their titles.
When the food got to the nursing home, we quickly engaged the birthday girl, and it was so popular that tables on either side of Jeanie were clamoring for it. And standing next to this was an old friend, also by the name of Jeanie, with the last name Steele, also from relatively far away North Hudson, who had a relative staying at the home, and said she was interested in the food, although she’s Italian not Irish. However, she did not partake so others could have the first shot at it. Ironically, she had also been at the nursing home visiting for the initial food go-round.
Jeanie, back to the name of my wife, kept stirring the pot so to speak, by saying over and over, this is for a restaurant review, so try some more! The lady who was most interested in this actual sampling, Helen Benedict, was regularly pursing her lips with a joyous smile as she regularly exclaimed, along with her many of her mates, “this is wonderful!” Just right, and not just that brand of cereal. The woman to her left added that I, as the impromptu host, should try the trademark potato-based delicacy, which was arguably better than the potato chips and another ethnic food, the fiesta corn, offered by the house, so she eventually deferred. But not before she and another woman at the table asked that their plate be warmed so they would get the full treatment. One added that the only thing that would have made one of the dishes better is a great big onion. Bloomin’ onion? That would go well with the black and tan onion rings on the Paddy Ryan’s menu. Also getting a part of the treatment on both occasions, vicariously, were employees and members of the wait staff, all also very familiar with Paddy Ryan’s.
Some say they would not consider boxty, but this is Paddy Ryan’s …
And a few have no idea what a boxty is (like Jeanie, despite her Irish roots) until they trek over just east of Hudson. But the lesson has often been well received (by the decades long Irish tale-telling teacher too), and twice over at that, with excellent food and service, just like back in spring, right down to the manager and bartender — and the kindly conversation for a traveler a long way from home! When Irish Eyes (And Ears) Are Smiling (with things like bread pudding too, which Jeanie prizes almost as much as corned beef and cabbage).
More bits from her about the boxty: Lamb on one trip and the Jameson on the next, with a leaning towards the Jameson and its rich tartness that perfect for cold weather! That would be more a March sentiment, but it was echoed by Kohl. And then there are those Irish Nachos, but we’re not just talking typical taco meat, rather things to beef it up such as the aforementioned corned beef (theirs virtually melts in your mouth) despite being a huge portion — and also basically a meal in itself and not even costing much. The chicken wings, too, have a wonderful flavor, and just a slight crunch on them, Jeanie said.
A return to the St. Pat’s trip
On that day, the hostess met me immediately and even had a backup person to greet the patrons behind me. I told her that I had a special arrangement with the proprietor, Kirk Mueller, for gathering story material and that she might want to verify with him that these straight up were the arrangements that existed, but kudos to her for trusting me, not taking that extra step, instead pronto offering me a seat wherever possible — in the place that despite a large amount of seating capacity was popular and packed full, even though it was between the lunch and dinner hour and not a peak time. But there were still a few seats around and I was offered one either at the bar or by the big west window with the sun setting in the background, and the hostess quickly suggested to sit on one side versus the other, so I could have an over the shoulder peak at the glowing orb while at the same time not having it beaming directly in my face. (I should note that I know I was not given special treatment as a member of the press, since the hostess then handed off the assignment to one of the many other staffers there, as the level of workers available was more than sufficient in this busy day, and I had no other dealings with the hostess after meeting her at the door, and there simply was no time to convey to them my special circumstances).
But back to the food. The corned beef was by far the most tender I have had, yet full bodied. It was not the usual inches-long slab you would find most places, with tough pieces of gristle and fat that are hard to chew, but at Paddy Ryan’s it is shredded to just the right degree — just a bit thicker than what you find with pulled pork, which they also offer. Any there was nary a bit of gristle to be found. My corned beef was seasoned to just the right degree, tasty in a way that compliments the meat but not overpowering. (Add a bit of their gourmet malt vinegar that is at each table if you want a bit more zing). And the consistently toned, light red color of the meat was very visually appealing.
You got not two or three, but four delicately seasoned potatoes, lightly glazed to produce a light gold sheen. The cabbage was another part of the pattern, shredded a bit thinner than the big chunks you usually get to give it a consistency near that of cole slaw, and the flavoring and color was, again, the same through and through. A refreshing change, I thought. Add several lightly seasoned carrots and you have quite a dinner! But that’s not all. The proprietor came by table by table through his busy joint to greet each customer and offer them a $3 shot of Jameson. There were other shots of whiskey type things available for as little as a dollar.

What would a month make? More stoners, bean bag league players, and cops foregoing warm doughnuts and hot coffee for things such as ice cream:

— The 4-20 observance (hey I know its been over well a month ago, but am I being a typical stoner?) was, unfortunately, understaffed at the Hideaway since a number of their Twin Cities workers quit right beforehand. That would never happen at a Wisconsin smoke shop, would it? Does their degree of reliability surprise you? However, who was indeed there may have used some of their inventory to soldier through (just kidding). Usually its a great big promotion date, for them and their Hudson branch, and also their competitors at Smokedale, which can also be found in Oakdale, hence the (relatively coherent for a stoner) rhyming. And by contrast, word has it that the local Smokedale has been adding staff, because when you need that smoke you want service.
— Also over a month ago, what with the relatively warm weather first showing, my neighbor foresook his classic, loomingly large man cave and got his bright-red sports car out, which because the windows are no higher than his waist looks like the proverbial low-rider. But as there was a more recent showing of the first really hot, not just warm, weather, topped off by the hosting of local car shows, such classic cars were to be seen all over the place — not to mention other things like crotch rockets and cars abundant with glowing designs of Flower Power rather than just straight paint, being followed at some times by the police.
— And again, almost a month ago, I witnessed the first-of-the-season bean bag toss being played in someone’s yard, as its been warm and cool, by turns. They oddly enough, in what you would expect to be changed up, had the same number of boards — two games going — as that down the road at Kozy Korner in their tournament a week earlier. What did they have going, which was topped off by the young kids throwing hither and yon at a family members recent birthday party for a youngster? Four score …
— But now to get more current, at the expense of The Father. This savings for frugal dad on his day might seem cool on its face, but in this case it actually involves the armpits, although the $4 that is leftover could avail him to have a beer at his favorite haunt, and even leave a good tip, (but again not sure, as dad indeed might be frugal with his sheckles). The topic: Get your fresh on through deoderant, and sorry dad, but sometimes you need it, although that is a matter of Degree. Especially when entertaining this claim, that it dries instantly (dad might appreciate since he can be a bit OCD), and gives 48 hour protection (in case it becomes dad’s 24-day times two, if he tries to get out there with a basketball in the driveway with the youngsters and prove he can still hit that medium-range jumper, which actually at his age might be a set-shot like back in the day, and this gets him a bit too sweaty for his wife and daughters).
Another bad idea for a Father’s Day gift, although with a similar cost savings via coupon, will you get some adult diapers. OK, this one might be more for Grandfather’s Day. But I guess that all Depends. And Old Granddad wasn’t always known for his Poise!
On the better side, The Coldstone Creamery says that dads can get a treat that’s “dark, tall and delicious.” Does he need to get out Viagra or heart or cholesterol medication?
— The other night two State Patrol troopers took their break at Freedom and bought up sugary snacks of all varieties, but get this, no doughnuts! This right on the cusp of National Doughnut Day. Can you get written up a citation for (not) doing that? Or, as a newspaper colleague of mine was fond of saying, for not buying the right treat as an act of misconduct, “Bad Cop, No Doughnut!” I guess that explains their buying pattern or the lack of now, doesn’t it.
— While on the topic of what is legal, a bar patron the other night queried of all people, me, about the intricacies of libel law. And for my advice, he didn’t even adjourn and buy me a beer, the bastard (or should I say barrister). I guess I wasn’t supposed to get any further into the realm of the law by venturing into what could be OWI territory. I must say that back in college, professors didn’t get on my case as they knew I was a wiz at press law, and even told me so off the record, and I’d actually got a C in a course where it was a rite of passage to be flunked the first time through. Although that was so many years ago that I doubt more than 10 percent of precedents had been written.
— Something else that should be written is that David Wright was doing a reading session from what he had written as a book, at the Hudson Public Library. It said so, right on that sign that was almost as big as, and right next to, the front door. Another author was listed on the back of the sign, which faced the bushes. I guess the former wordsmith had sold a bunch more books than the one that was close to being right up against the wall.
— I was trapped inside the four walls when taking part in our neighborhood garage sale, which didn’t produce too many dimes. So I told my bartender friend Matt, that he could buy my entire estate for all of a buck. Alas, he only had 99 cents on him, as the terms were cash. So I dug deeper into my pockets and said I could loan him a rare $2 bill, which being in mint condition was probably worth $3. I then thought I could indeed make the sale, which was a good deal, I thought …
— Moving to the topic of the NBA Finals, an injury to Kevin Durant drew boos and he limped off the court, and all kinds of Canadians were appalled at the conduct of their countrymen concerning the Toronto-Golden State match-up. Musician Drake was one of those supporting Durant. I’m told that joining the love fest was a former model from Brazil who despite the geographical distance knows Drake and for a while hung out at The Village Inn in North Hudson.
— Alas (old) Packer Backers, Bart Starr has passed on. Perhaps the best place to offer your “memorial” would be Starr’s Bar. Word has it that this venue, also in North Hudson, “threw” an observation that was (Jim) Taylor-made for the occasion.
— On the night of the 75 Anniversary of D-Day, I exited Dick’s Bar and heard on the car radio as I was driving away, the same fitting song as I had inside — The Trooper by Iron Maiden. I also had heard a lot of Megadeth, which is decidedly anti-war, being played in recent days (the name is a measurement of how many millions would have to have died in a nuclear Holocaust to produce that tally. As in two million deaths would be called two megadeaths). Alas, saw a lot of War Pigs compilations described on old cover jackets, and an old friend turned quickly and gave me a high five for my past singing of the old Black Sabbath standard.

If you are a reader of HudsonWiNighlife, you know that we love a good pun, but sometimes extend it too far. With that said …
It is (or was) April Fools Day. But beyond that, the third time (or day) is the charm. Or the fourth. OK, I plead the Fifth. And the Sixth. Can this pun be in Seventh Heaven? OK, Eight is Enough. Or is it …Call it an even dozen.
The city of New Richmond a few months back outlawed the so-called miracle cure from oil derived from marijuana. Seriously (for maybe the first time in this piece), don’t they have better things to do? Especially since shortly afterward, all 50 states legalized it. Forget the debate about federal vs. state, what about city vs. the entire country!
With that said, what are some other measures (vices and standard — sort of — practices?) that we understand the city is considering outlawing. To wit (can I use that term?):
I am calling some of this unjust enrichment, via price gouging. Hence the United States of Incompetent Services (USIS).
— Ban that old 80/20 hamburger, and metal ties can’t be used to sway the weight factor.
— Require eye doctor insurance, with compensation for lost wages if you can’t find what you’ve been looking at all along.
— Prohibit serving merely Iceberg lettuce, not romaine, with riders for kale and spinach.
— When serving spicy food, require a pad with therapeutic gel to protect the stomach lining.
— Disallow selling potato and carrot peels, if more then twice a month, with a one pound limit.
— And don’t forget about some stem parts of BIG tomatoes, which are allegedly toxic.
— Make places offer both sugar and the tons of the other alternatives that are generics.
— Cap the hourly fees of lawyers and doctors at $200, unless they show ability to recite their professional oath.
— Most telemarketers are paid by the word, so give them a 1000 word limit per call.
— License televangelists by having them provide matching funds of $1 million, since they have it, with no need to pray.
— Utilities can only have rate hikes every 2.5 days, or there will be a rebate in the form of free AC for an hour.
— Likewise, the cable bill is limited to a rate increase only every three weeks, as this is more entertaining.
— If your credit score is a negative number, President Trump’s approval is needed for a loan, since he is the King of Bankruptcy.
— Concerning the spare change that falls between car seats, your sofa has to absorb a “quarter” of the loss, unless it is covered by supplemental insurance.
— Lastly, some soups at the grocery store are listed as having “natural” smoke flavor. Is there such a thing?

The Devil may care, but Lordy it’s hard to dance to some of this music. However, maybe that’s something that a little, or more than a little, duct tape can fix. Or not so fashionably lame, gold lame tape?
— It was a sweet but short St. Patrick’s Day dance, and yes I have to say a lap dance, facing both front and back, that my wingman was given impromptu when a nice woman sauntered over at Dick’s Bar. But I must say, no red hair. Now my buddy never ever gets out on the dance floor. But this was St. Pat’s Day. So after quite the introduction, to continue the interaction forward, the next song played and he asked me if there is a style where its possible to dance — on the main floor — to the Charlie Daniels Band? Only if you do it like a real hillbilly, as that’s the real reason The Devil Went Down To Georgia, I said. That brings up mention of that tongue in cheek, vintage sign, much like a license plate, by the horseshoe area between rooms that says hippies must use the side door, no exceptions. Not even for that buttiful blonde? But, another young woman who works quite often as a downtown bartender and was right beside that sign stomped forcefully through her hillbilly dance, however she was wearing green sparkly pants that would seem more suited for disco, not Daniels.
— We all know you can do a lot with duct tape, and even more with that gold plastic tape that granted is a bit harder to tear. Has their been enough of this newfound warmth of weather to allow gold lame pants, like the makeshift ones I wore (and were called really lame) with such tape to cover a big and in this case unfashionable tear in back by my butt. It became basically a back pocket protector — although some thought this was just as improper as the rip itself, after they’d been drinking at home. Not cool like the small and multiple tears in gal’s jeans, or their sequined stitchery in the same spot that concerned me.
— Despite the essentially three-day holiday and what it invariably entails, super social Sarah, a longtime bartender going back to pre-Ellie’s Days, ran a 5K early on St. Pat’s Day. More impressive than my pants.
— Is he Amish or Irish? A heavily bearded man who also dressed like the former, had on a green hat and same colored beer T-shirt. We’ll vote Irish. That was right before a huge crowd flowed into Dick’s at last call the day of … Would the Irish do that? Probably the night of the holiday itself, not the Offical Recovery Mode Followup Day. But that still didn’t keep pro patron Stephanie from sporting a stocking cap with some white but also plenty of green, especially the cloth ball at the top not unlike a folded up shamrock.
— Don’t drink and drive and press your luck, the DOT sign said on the freeway. Aside from driving part, isn’t that playing out the Luck Of The Irish?
— This being Hudson far west the weekend before the bigger holiday, Lucky Palooza played out on West Seventh Street in St. Paul with two booth types, for food and of course beer and such, and also had band tents with lively Irish-music, big screen TVs the size of a basketball foul-shot-lane but then much rain. However people carried on, especially some of the most attractive 21-year-olds you will find, either indulging or serving at places like McGoverns. They were super tipsy, but one of them still manage a smile for me.
— Then there’s Hudson far east, as in Cheap Andy’s officially in Hammond, which had beachballs, not beach volleyball or bean bags, being bounced around the scant snow that still existed on a pair of sand courts. Meanwhile, back in downtown Hudson, there was found a slip of paper with email address for Any, who despite being cheap really gets around.
— Girl Scout cookies were being sold for a few weeks in three different spots that I saw, including very rarely in this case outside, as the early-on cold required stickers to be taped over gas pump grade buttons directing buyers to come inside where it was dozens of degrees warmer. These cookies must have been premium.
— I saw more than a week ago the first late-night umbrella of the season, followed by one more such siting the next night and shortly after a full yellow plastic poncho (is that standard bar attire along the lines of what that little black dress could be in three months or so?) And then I could invoke the chatty guy I noticed in a standard three-piece suit coming out of the Smilin’ Moose, and continuing on with the gab as going down the sidewalk. Prepping for that a.m. business meeting proposal?
— That’s one of those places where you really need your spelling right. So I enter this version of a household Irish word that apparently gets butchered quite a bit, found in a weekend scratch-game ad: Eirinn Go Brach. It even had apostraphies about the first and last name.
— Not to the point of an ice dam, but dripping water froze and made slippery a few parts of Dick’s smoking patio, so people commented on more than just the ice cubes in their drinks. And earlier, jogging past various such places were members of the high school cross country team, and it had been warm enough for them to be wearing thin knit sweatshirts, although having collars you mind.
— All day partying, to conclude this over-the-top weekend, in St. Paul begs the question. Which state’s flooding is worse? And if dressing down not up, in green, what about the proverbial high heels? They only save from wetness half of the foot. But as an old bartending friend said, they do make her and other womens’ legs look shapely. As if fair Irish lasses need any help in that area!
— Gunning the accelerator through ponding? Hurt your car’s engine block, as a mechanic I know suggested? I over-rule. Must hit the next Irish hot spot.
— The Friday before was the international women’s day, so to celebrate, since your favorite hot bartender is, obviously, female, give her an extra big tip. And since it was on a Friday, one of the busiest bar nights, there’s plenty of fodder to borrow her for a moment, say you appreciate the service, and fit in that buck or two. But wait a minute. Did I say this passed on last Friday? Hey, this is so important, as the ladies are VERY important, that there should be a whole womens weekend, or week, or month, so there’s still plenty of time for that big tip. Cuz its all about keeping them happy, because of the service they do, and HudsonWiNightlife is all on board with using its where-with-all to make sure the extension happens — or am I being a bit delusional about the weight I can throw around?
— One other business that had some short-term snow-addled complications for access — not nearly as easy as just dragging your late-night butt down to the corner bar — was our unit at Badger State Storage in Houlton. Note what side of the icy St. Croix River this is on. Would it be better to be from Iowa? Beating, (weatherwise?) things Minnesconsin? Now their newest challenge, of course is to defeat the ponding that seems to be everywhere.
— A group that bills itself as St. Croix spirituality and awakening, as well separately as a local minister who also had a rough patch with snow being removed from his roof, found it was much harder than battling Satan, and that could include a late-night scenario when the dam really hit — so to speak — but maybe they could have prayed harder. They both had to cancel out of their evening events. Reminds me of a Wiccan group who made a collective effort to see if they could use meditation to change the temperatures. The result? There was a drop of a few degrees, but not enough to be conclusive about the power of their actions. But back to locally: The same group has advertised a spiritual spring cleaning, although that’s maybe ahead of schedule. I have to reference some lyrics from Stairway to Heaven: If there’s a bustle in your hedgerow don’t be alarmed now. Its just a spring clean for the May Queen. This is an obvious reference to the May Day and nature-based pagan observance that the Christians co-opted centuries later. I posed that theory in a column for the Hudson Star-Observer during my time with them, and asked if anyone agreed or disagreed, or thought my explanation would go over with readers like a Led Zeppelin (or balloon), as was suggested by disparagingly by The Who, and that ended up giving the rock band its name. What, no comments forthcoming? Guess that shows how many people read the local rag.
— And what do all these entities have in store for us, as far as our perceptions? Late night coming back home, I thought I saw a set of bunny ears up high that had a widespread forehead, only to notice that it was actually a string of mailboxes with the flags positioned upward on the ends. Then there was a car plowing through the nearly nightly snow that had its wheels darkened and a white frame, so that it looked like there were a pair of deer running on ahead of me — sloshing through whats become a swamp. Guess that’s what can happen if your license plate and headlights are frosty with a dusting of snow, or sleet, which is what I saw with a third vehicle.
— A guy I met downtown just the other week, in the warm climes that are indoors with patio, could have sworn that right before entry someone walked the sidewalk path that was subject of continuing snow buildup, just two minutes ahead of him. With the snow cascading, he was shocked to see that the footprints had already disappeared from view, in basically the time it takes to down a shot of Jag. With that time-a-wasting-with-the-changing-weather story, there’s just not enough leeway to spell out the full name of Hudson’s Most Wanted drink, next to beer.

The continued snow leads to freeze ups that include snow creatures, doorbells and possibly even cows:

— I tawt I saw a pussycat, I did I did. That’s what I initially thought I spied when viewing two snow creatures on deck at Hop & Barrel, like quite odd for the season, a mom and pop enjoying a flowery drink under a big umbrella, and that night sighting a possible llama . (Not even at Dick’s for a corporate event), but near the front porch of a home in old town Hudson. Gotta lay off the sauce, even if they’re just margaritas, and the hands-off status includes tampering naughtily with that crushed snow angel, even to “help,” that I saw in the snowbank along Second Street.
— After many recent technology freezeups, the question was posed online: Which smart doorbells survived the harsh cold, in case your drunken ex shows up unannounced after bar time and the nightly temps have dropped? Hopefully by April its ding, ding, ding. The same with the door to our 24-hour storage space. Need some extra chairs and heaters and such at the last minute before your after-bar party?
— The gist of a multi-faceted tragedy told on the late night TV news was somewhere between thin ice, cows, and maybe snowmobiles, on multiple days. I’d had a couple of beers, so I kinda forget the details. What’s odd is that the potential calamity occurred way into western Wisconsin. Not enough news of the weird in the metro?
— Then there is the recently rebuilding Hudson Tap, which was just a couple of months ago Rio Loco cantina, with that sign of the new name already looming big on the second floor wall, and an 8-11-inch paper flyer on the door that says their new design and club will be (opening soon). Can’t take long as the sign is already up. But in the meantime, to supplement down the street, the former Stone Tap that had advertised for restaurant space to go along with a condo project, is now host to a venue called Fiesta Cancun, if only having THEIR sign over one of the two doors.