Chaotic entry …
As so often, it was a different crowd at Dick’s Bar in Hudson, like the St. Paulites not at the Xcel Energy Center at that very moment, huge green top hat sitting next to her, and for her part the headgear was much the same with a lot of cleavage around green cloth in their clothes everywhere. Strutting down the sidewalk that ran aside were two suits and ties, all appearing totally of course in the color of lime. And not that on the rim of your whiskey or other drink of Irish ilk.
So top coat? Top hat? Wear it? Wallet’s fat?
Bartender Bailey, again a great name on St. Patrick’s Day, went on Amazon and was left with only ordering this T-shirt for her and her shopmates: OK it was a great shirt, in truth: “Irish (symbol) I were dead.” (She also rocked her multi-green-faceted, Emerald Isle-style, top with hat to bottom, wardrobe enhancements, and was in her social element). The main counter area sported a several-foot-long string of shamrocks.
The Moose man of the day said essentially this on his shirt, but not himself personally, just an observation: Sloshed on this day? How much makes you so?

— More various holiday themed, including this just past one if you read down far enough, postcards from the edge (of a ride!) See Picks Of The Week. —

At his Moose bar was a woman wearing a shirt that was creative as far as the theme of various shades of green. So fresh squeezed? It could have been an ad for sweet relish. Green chilis and bell peppers. Are we sure this is not Cinco de Mayo. Hot dog! (Sorry. That silly joke didn’t cut the mustard).
A few chairs away and around the bend of the bar-rail, there was the ultimate Irish redhead, although long straight not curly locks.
Mountain of a man and he’s Scottish too, not just Irish, outside my driver pulls up. Like so many, this guy I know is from both sides of the isle. Maybe Brit also.
There was not too much busyness up and down the cold main street, at least fairly early, but many said that would change when it got close to midnight, and St. Patrick’s Day, actually, had past. Hudson Tap was very packed, even more than earlier as one of the few, well prior to 12 O’Clock. Unusual, as people on this holiday don’t usually wait until late to get going.
When going up and away back to the Great Northeast, Burkhardt was very busy as typical, but Boardman was quite boring. (Unlike around 5 p.m.) New Richmond’s main streets were as mixed a bag as the often quaint Irish of old and new.
Little Italy bartender Shauna had very red hair, but said although she’s a wee bit Irish, but mostly German, and a smidge of other things. Her last name evoked also invoked thoughts of Irish and it was very obscure, but that also delved into the Duetsch. Her family has discussed where their current goings-on have come from. For my part, she indeed looked very much like my cousin, Emerald Isle through and through, named Eithne.
Slide into another Saturday, another T-shirt, another $3.75. Sitting next to me making love to her tonic and gin — or maybe Guinness or Finnegan’s — was someone best described as an updated bit of Irish, with a bit of post-punk style. Her look thus, was very dark green. Could this be Flogging Molly or Dropkick Murphys, or their copiers.
In the grocery aisle, come Sunday, was another only slightly-as-dark green, true Irish with long red hair that that was waved around when hitting her chest.
On sale? Three or four pints for $11.99, oh that’s ice cream not any of those Irish drinking faves.

It’s true that you can meet someone (a redhead?) in the grocery checkout line, needing help with her corned beef and cabbage and all those plausibly Pat’s if not sacred fixin’s, if they are bagged big enough to serve a big Irish Catholic family on St. Patrick’s Day. Or an elf, see three sentences down, half the height of that saint, just prior to his holiday. (He was actually Scottish to start off, so give him an extra few inches). A lass across the aisle from me was told by an employee that she had a couple of pieces of popcorn slung on her back, then plucked them off like pedals of a clover, but for a wee bit of salt. I suggested they were placed there by a mischievous leprechaun or two, one bearing the salted butter, and prompted her to say something about being Irish — could not tell if she was pro or con, or situational after this weekend.

— Did I say weekend? If you survived St. Paddy’s Day (short spelling because I may not be one of those few who did) there is more music tonight, that being Saturday, that being March 18th. To wit, it’s at the Willow River Saloon in Burkhardt, and its Jazmine and the Gents. Basically, a lass and her (for the most-post-Paddy-part) backup band. —

Then as a now very busy area barber, who had his chosen and well proportioned half-green hair, for this date, melded with even more prominent old tattoos — of lovely lasses bearing the now typically out-of-fashion green beer? — with that underlying hue or tint. But not a green nose ring, as that would be icky, even if only one nostral.
In another profession, via a clerk, many rows of whiskey bottles took shape a wee few days ahead on the counter between the two cash registers at Dick’s Liquors. Various flavors, mostly Irish but also Scottish and Kentucky bourbon, and even root beer flavored. For me, as I was the only one in that aisle?? This already in early March.
And there have been a full nine beer specials, of various types, for most of the prior week at Kwik Trip. But to get Guinness you’d need to gain more shopping guile. Or doctor your rewards card like various of us have done with our “I’m 18 now 21” IDs?
So we also have whiskey that’s Northern Kentucky Norse, much less than the land of 3-2 beer, and 12 Apples Irish whiskey, heaven forbid not 13, or this Friday could spell trouble.
Would a Texas WalMart have such a small top-hat, with big decals lower down, as wore the woman at our WM store more than a week beforehand? And having three colors of hair, to boot. But no boots. Green was also the theme of their beef jerky on sale, whether in be the packaging (or what’s organic inside)?
The only On This Day Irish are likely the ones who will grab all the 24 or 30 packs and more just the night before, said a clerk at Bob and Steve’s convenience store, agreeing that as faux Irish they don’t realize it was indeed on hand. The Day until the day prior to The Day. Does the again referenced Guinness come in that big size, and cans not ounces? On this time around for The Day, there is get this, more snow/sleet/cold/rain/wind in the equation. We’ll see about warmth, as on The Isle the seas aid that effort.
And then there’s that guy, wearing the Flogging Molly T-shirt that comes out of the closet (for this day?) Unless you’re traveling far afield via the advertised Megabus Madness. As its more popular, Molly is, every mid-March. But hey, they’re probably OK as a band. But so was Air Supply. But a different style of tune. I think. Some might think the name somewhat offensive; or just too easy and/or cheesy, so can’t ascertain.
So here’s to my main man cabbie and the rule of sevens! That’s as in a.m., when the drinking would start in New Richmond, he said of St. Pat’s … By the time you’d think his business would really be in vogue, not sunsetting, there might only be two or three fares. Same at New Year’s Eve. And they didn’t necessarily all go to St. Paul; just when you get going that early, even here …
Lastly, as they’re both name players in these the days of basketball mid-March Madness; two Greens who go by that surname (40 percent of it) took the court on the same team’s five-man lineup. Not the Fighting Irish.

There’s a range of fantastic west Wisconsin venues ranging north to south to almost the length of Ireland, each offering their own take on St. Patrick’s Day.
Leading off, check out the rainbow of things — not just a wee bit — at UW Wanderoos in Amery that you will not normally find on this green day. Start with a Shamrock Martini, gotta love that drink recipe idea, and even if you are not Irish you are sure to be well served by ordering their Get Lucky burger. And their fish fry all through Lent starts on Wednesdays, then runs through Fridays. A pool tournament — pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? — is offered on March 18 and also on that evening there is the up-to-date country strains of North of 64, hailing from across the way in Osceola. (Check out their travelin’ story online video, as referenced in an earlier post!)
To hit up the Isle, Hey hey, what can I do … I will be true: The following adds up to almost three dozen. Paddy’s Ryan’s offers a selection of more than 35 Irish whiskey AND single malt Scotch, and you can also knock back not only a Shanky’s Whip with its vanilla theme — as proprietor of all things Irish Kirk Mueller calls it — and a whole series of Jameson varieties. But back to Shanky’s. Its official website, no doubt from the Emerald Isle, also describes it as the original black liqueur (their correct spelling used) and Irish whiskey blend with the taste of cream, and caramel, that it offers the world. And that’s not just on St. Patrick’s Day, but everyday they are open in both the town of Hudson and now River Falls, with even greater accessibility. River Falls will also have, again, its potato soup crawl, and you can be sure Paddy Ryan’s will lead the way with that type of fare.

— For the latest in St. Patrick’s Day information, to milk in this state a bad old joke but good one, I go when brave and bold and want news on the cold to MotherInMilwaukee.mom. (Even though she’s a full 99.9 percent German): “It is 42 degrees here, cloudy, damp and gray! We’re to get rain today and rain snow mix tomorrow (the real main day in question, as Milwaukee is Irish too, and their might be wind worthy of one of their yarns at play also)!”
But back to that cabbie and his distain for snow, as he just right stream on his streaming of Tiger state hockey, as in its champs, done all season regionally, but at the end The WIAA held all dibs. On the drive to Madison, as they crept near Portage — where with that name you’d think they’d provide a break from the fluffy white stuff, liquid or less, there was less and less and then no snow. Could see all of the corn stalks virtually down to their roots. Once down there, there was domination, with the goalie giving up only one goal all tourney, while racking up a full ten themselves against archrival Menomonie.
Back In New Richmond, after back at the sports bar, there was a woman with a Prescott sweater, I think it went as I was just a wee bit buzzed, who also was relishing the hockey greatness, just far afield. —

Being that St. Patrick’s Day is a Friday … The Smilin’ Moose is much lower in price than many with its Friday Lenten fish fry, at $13.99 and only $3.99 for two more pieces. And always with seafood chowder. And served until 10 p.m., before the young guns and their music take over. But wait, it is being outdone by The Hudson Tap, two blocks down, at $12.99, and the same value for those couple of added fillet pieces. And their chowder is clam.
And also at The Tap, on St. Paddy’s the Irish drinks offered include Smithwick’s ale and like Paddy Ryan’s, Shanky’s whiskey, not to mention the added in Harp lager.
To the south at the Sub House is a sandwich take on the Rueben that has warm roast beef and onion, too.
More northernly, in New Richmond, besides the big late afternoon parade, Nootz & Oz will show-off and showcase their newly installed end-to-end granite bar-rail and also serve you a Guinness on it for only $4. For more details on the parade, check out McCabe’s Shamrock Club, (which before March even arrived had shorn up all its marketing funds for that longtime event, which basically sells itself anyway).
For those counting, if you want to get in your full dozen hours of partying at the Wild Badger/Mallards, you can get it going at 11 a.m. at the former, but then at the latter things wrap up way before Irish time but it will still be just ducky to conclude at 11 p.m. And though gold not green (there’s room for both), you can get Fireball shots at the Wild Badger for a wee $3, since its a Friday special.

Very unfortunately, and not forgotten, it’s not so cozy anymore, for yes its hallowed hearth and halls being fried top to bottom by a recent fire. Can no longer bring the heat on those killer pizzas, in what had been cherished as Kozy Korner, existing for over a decade in the heart of the only business district in North Hudson.
That’s because of that overnight blaze, occurring just hours before they would have again gotten busy with making those near-locally-legendary breakfast pizzas, that killed the kitchen and any kiln, and virtually gutted the place.
Video footage, as coverage even reached the Twin Cities news outlets, showed what took place not long after bar time, smoke billowing westward from that center of the building and charring the steak in the now unchilled fridge and freezer, but the seating area on the south side also was toast — sorry for that — and the laundromat on the north end also was washed away.
But for me personally, I had been waiting for the unveiling of some of that steak, as part of a killer new menu that had been promised for more than a year, when the concept was first introduced by the new owners, and since then has been just tweaked — baby steps away from the past, and big shoes and stomachs to fill, so get it right.

— So if you still crave pizza, your next available option in North Hudson might be another K, as in Kwik Trip, where they sport the timely pitch that beware of what’s in the road ahead, they have their pothole brand pizza. Spring friendly. —

Of course, there are perhaps dozens of formerly Kozy employees who have lost employment due to the fire, and the fundraisers for them have followed, and will follow. One of them, a Belle of a woman named Bel, who I caught up with at Dick’s Bar, and Grill of course, in downtown Hudson, not North Hudson, took it in stride, but with a slight pang in her voice. This was a thing passing in life, which will go on.
The fundraiser of which I am aware was at The Willow River Saloon in Burkhardt, and was a spaghetti dinner, forego the pizza, although they have that too via a big Carbone’s attached to the north end.
One of the three people listed for raffle donations is a principle at Broz down in River Falls. So I stopped in, and talked to the bartender, who knew of the tragedy but not the sources for fundraisers.
This has not been the only prominent restaurant fire in this relatively small village. Decades ago, in the heart of the village as a whole, a venue that topped all others in North Hudson, was as Italian as it gets. And that may be important. For its long been rumored both here and farther away that the mob was behind the blaze. And you know, like Dio who is also Italian prominently sung, The Mob Rules. Other restaurant versions rose from the ashes.
But would it be so for this New Richmond property? A house that also burned to the ground, many months ago. In a lot two doors down, is another property that like this one is up for sale, offered by the Realtor family that goes by The Moes. In an ode to the Simpsons, so in this case I must be glib, they could also market the other lot, and be known as The Flamin’ Moes, after Homer’s favorite barkeep. Did he too work at Kozy Korner? They had a bar too.

Who knew Tim Sigler could be so diversified. And he was a metro musical institution to start with.
Just ask a big longtime fan and his friend — along with the rest of her crowd — for the regional country star who I just ran into while shopping, but not for rock T-shirts, by the way.
This same Crue — they’d probably like that too — had just returned from a Bruce Springsteen concert in the Twin Cities the night before, where the metro dailies said via a newsstand a few feet away, The Boss gave one of his trademark lengthy shows, despite being in his 70s. Yes earlier in that number of years but still … Not sure to what degree he kept up the same legendary energy level.
We’ll leave that to the (somewhat) younger artist they rave about. (She still had one of his band T-shirts on).
That would be Sigler, who the crew (this time spelled that way) had also just seen play at Ziggy’s, this time in Stillwater. The rub: Sigler had been in a tribute band for The Boss before taking his country act on the road, playing major clubs, especially on this end of the metro area, for what has to be a couple of decades now.
This has been called Sigler does Springsteen, as I encountered the new version of the act also at Ziggy’s, this time the Hudson version. That was a couple of weeks back, but certain to return soon, whether there and/or in Stillwater, as he’s been an on-again-off-again stalwart at both.
And I said, in my lead and followed up by mentioning the Crue, that as Sigler’s group diversifies, and not just in also performing as a lineup that’s not a full band: In a warm-up I saw just prior to the Hudson full-on show, they were tuning their instruments and delved into some plucky-fast rock guitar.

— This officer was camped out by a manhole at Second and Locust, in the middle of the main drag, as he said the immediate area as far as The Phipps Center was flooded Down Under and the hole itself was open in an effort to rectify the matter. Traffic was directed to be redirected with a white light that wants to show, and the middle of main was blocked off, as this was a busy weekend in downtown Hudson. I just had to ask him what this was about, and he was happy to tell. This reminded me of a time long ago, when I was a photographer for the Hudson Star-Observer and took some photos of an officer steering traffic around a block down, as it was near last call and the street lights had gone out. He was not thrilled and told me to wrap up the shoot and be on my way.
Then there’s this sign that was on both side of the Meister’s marquee in Boardman, wishing well wishes to someone named Rita, and it was up for several days. She must be important. And that was the pet name of an ex who was pert, that she had given to herself (and her where-with-all). Are you reading Debbie? Oh, a different Debbie than one I have cited before. There must be as many by that name as Amanda and Jennifer. —

And now, back to and alluding to the fan I saw shopping, this pussycat gets faster with the concerts I cover:
When I’d earlier also approached, at a venue a couple of blocks away, a young man about his T-shirt, something I often-transitioning-into-always do with people, opening act Lamb of god was better than even Megadeth, so it was said. I ran this by, to get a stream-of-consciousness (partial) quote, metalhead Mike, 2M, who lives (and dies?) by band leader Mustaine, and thought he would distain: “Oh yeah, that was just his personal preference, at the time and it was what he saw first and he liked it … was that his first metal concert? Yeah, I get it.”
yes, this was the young man’s first concert, metal or otherwise, and he made it known he’s coming back for more. He added that he likes all forms of music, but when queried made it clear that his faves tend to (all) be harder edged. He got the concert bug when offered to do security at Rock Fest almost two hours away in Cadott — are you, say perchance, listening Debbie? — and decided to take it for some extra dough, but then One Thing Led To Another.
I originally Walked His Way to say that Metallica is still ahead of my list for the Big Metal 3M bands. And now with Lamb of god thrown into the picture … And the venue in The Cities was none other than The Armory, a place with a strong Hudson tie-in based on an engineering-type-but-not-nerdy guy who earlier was a main mainstay in getting such shows together from such a standpoint, pre-but-no-longer-post-pandemic.
Back to the new metalhead, he had the obligatory long hair in a ponytail, maybe just for that night, like the bartender whose hair was newly put in curls for a friend’s wedding. And the gal pal he was with was even more decked out, as even one side of her face, but not both, was fully tattooed.

Ouch, coming from the ice and snow, she just did the ultimate full-frontal (must unequivitably and emphatically say non-nudity due to her winter attire, but she still wasn’t wearing boots) somewhat cheeky face plant!
While wearing a great big ol’ cool coat as it was very cold, climbing/jumping over the thing I’ve come to call Ye Ol’ Ice Boulder. Crossing over to the other side.
And you’ve got to blame another part of her garb, those high heels, although the fact that they’re very clunky but only moderate in height, at a couple of inches, might have helped. For that’s what she wearing as she stepped up, way up and forward, over the mountain but not traveling across the sky.
As then she fell down. Hard.
Yes with all the snowstorms there has been a two-foot high, ranging up to three, for your two feet, mound made by busy plows of snow that soon was ice, at the end of the walkway out to the street at my apartment. If negotiating such to go to a music offering downtown, if a midnight show, watch that step at night even more, as vision is only a couple of feet.
Ye Ol’ Ice Boulder has been there almost since the start of this year’s crazy volumes of snow, taken as a calendar year, so don’t give the shoveler too much of a pound over the head.

— More on the state of the state. As in the annual high school winner-take-all tournament in Madison. (We are though second fiddle to the Minnesota one). Seems I was forewarned, by the flashing sign on the Dick’s Market in New Richmond marque, spinning fast you have to ride it well and simply stating what turned out to be a mouthful, Go Tigers. They only announced at the very end of the message: State Champs. Mere hours after the win, the sports bars started filling up, slow but sure, depends if you have a lead foot to get back where you belong. Have seen Nootz and Oz busy, but not that crazily so. The guy I know only as The Main Local Cabbie, if you step aside from that Renegade variety, greeted me at the door, right by the dart boards where I’ve had an ad lib hookup with others I know from way back. And on my way back, there were spaces to park on the main drag, but only very here and there. So did the Tigers win it by roaring with the over-the-top-and-pushing-it physical, as in bygone days? That for another post, as to not rain on their parade … —

But to go back, should I help up the fallen one, or keep her on ice? But then she would think I was watching her, as she walked away from the front door. But hey, that’s where my windows (plural) are.
She was at the top of the boulder, with not just her legs, but the rest of her, higher than her thighs, laid flat on the edge of the street — where you maybe should see a sidewalk.
But she staggered up, brushed herself off, then got in her ride. To only later get out again, then renegotiate Ye Ol’ Boulder when back.

(As we travel through the ongoing travails of That Mound Of Ice, as there are very many sometimes overlapping seasons in that abyss, there may be occasional updates on this topic that spring forward. As space allows.
No wait, this is a blog not a newspaper, so just scroll down. Channeling myself from a former time, when newspapering was my day job.)

The State of the Union got worn with fashion. (And on the topic of what you wear, or don’t, and how one such place fell from grace, at least in the eyes of the ATF … See the Uncategorized department for the inside scoop on how “the butler,” or should I say manager, allegedly did it at the Cajun Club).
But back to Biden. Moreso than the speech itself, things got dressed up in a way that gave wings to the address.
Only via the big flowery fabric extensions well over a foot past the ears, going sideways, of the outfit of a single lady legislator that for good or bad, stole the show. Got a GOP leg up on those bearing standard office attire, a bit frumpy but maybe dressed even more for some types of success.
And of course there was the followup controversy of The Left saying it just wasn’t right, and then the conservatives countering with their counterattack — one that didn’t even attempt to address the issues, at least on the one Fox talk-show-babble-disguised-as-news I saw the next day. She was shown wearing a necklace of dozens of huge pearls, and saved the day, fashionwise maybe, by not making them or orange or the new black. Make the same mistake twice? Or just stick it back in your face.

— Oh no I did it again. But this time its possible that I am not the only one to blame. Here-to-fore the group that lists themselves as off-the-wall, The Sheet Rockers, is at the Willow River Saloon in Burkhardt tonight (Friday). They would seem to have a day job, and everyone wants things done now these days, so a bit of overtime? And pull an Axl Rose and be late going onstage? Sounds as plausible as the need for rock ballads. So? Can still catch them tonight if you happen to be in the Hudson area? Or blame the (late) messenger? —

Back to that dress, that thankfully or there would be more criticism, was not a mini-skirt, has been compared to everything under the Hollywood lemon yellow sun — even Big Bird — but the Bumblebee movies of Transformer type. Just like that multi-segment window brusher of those colors on sale at Walmart, with winter waning, of just over ten bucks. A friend back in the ’80s bought the same type of dress, with huge puffed-up shoulders just past the collarbone, just that the color of hers was pink meets purple. A different and more adventure sometime in style.
I personally do not care if it was more flashy than functional for such an event, except for the message being sent. This is not a winged extravaganza seen while on the model runway; if there is a time to be stately and buttoned up but showing frugality, this is it. For it’s your tax dollars at work, although maybe indirectly, that there even is such an event, in a time where everyday consumers are struggling to make ends meet, and the GOP blasting Biden for the bad situation. Just go to Walmart, or at least Target, for your cool new outfit and donate a bit of the savings to charity, (or God forbid to either side of the border crisis). And can you get a discount if you forego a few feathers. More dough for the poor, or the wallet compartment of your party purse.
So this dress was an end run, seeming to avoid dealing with, or be oblivious to, the current state of the union. But there also should be a comparison to the huge galas of presidential inauguration — by the Dems too in a way that could be a missed opportunity to prove a political point — but these were times of a great celebration of change, that in truth would never come, rather than what have you done for me in the last year. And I thought Obama really missed out an opportunity for he and his ilk to party like the common man. Should be pink lemonade, maybe sans liquor, rather than pink champagne on ice as they strive to help us buy little pink houses, with what they do at the White House.
But back to the banter after the State of the Union:
On a Fox News opinion show, all they could talk about while holding a metamorphic hanky was what they called unfair blasting of That Dress in the press, and in particular the talk on The Talk show. After all, doesn’t she who wore it know she’s in the public eye at a prominent event, and making catcalls to interrupt the now prez to boot. But they never cited a single quoted phrase, not even to cherry-pick, so one assumes this complaining was much to do about nothing. Just gave them something to say, when there really is nothing to say.
I hate to think about the venom that would be brought forth if a Democrat wore such a thing. Hilary would be reviled for many more days before the likes of Fox would let the story become yesterday’s news.
And are not these same critics in the party that is trying to push through rules banning women from wearing something that’s not enough of something. No bare arms, and many other such varying measures that discard measurements, in the few states floating it through. Would hate to see, in these very red states, just what the riders are. No casual day at the office anymore. Will those skinny jeans get you written up? And who makes that enforcement decision?
Slim-sleeved T-shirts out also? Or what about banning muscle shirts, for women? Traditional roles? And are collars close enough to save the day, if not the country? Varies state by state and their legislative leeway of the moment. But could be good to block such skin-wear friendly garb on the oldsters of the Supreme Court, right now more federal than state, as in Wisconsin, so we won’t enter into it with the recent winner Janet. They on that truest High can compensate with the length of their robes.
What’s next, bring back the Victorian era where you couldn’t even show ankle, much less leg or — horrors –the start of butt crack? And we won’t even talk about face veils. After all, being a guy in the age of Tiktok, I can safely say that the right to show bare arms isn’t anywhere of concern on my list of T&A faves. Although I have a couple of bartender friends who have two of the most stately and shapely arms and shoulders you’ll find. I hope making that compliment is PC. Maybe just keep it to myself, or put it on my PC.
It has been noted that the men in the House, legislatively, have long been required to have on suit and tie as per rules of decorum. What if they keep too many shirt buttons open. Would the Speaker ask them to step outside?
Yes there are the ladies in those Bond movies who are not dressed for the office, unless that office is backstage of the fashion runway. But look at James himself. Killing not only the bad guys, while wearing that tux, but with leeway to change it up.

The NFL Pro Bowl Games featured multiple … of course … days of games of many types on and off the turf.
Throwing with accuracy almost to the inch, catching those spinning lasers, running and cutting fast and quickly, twisting and turning with precision as you go.
So they call them skills competitions. When finally done, they’re followed in a week by a Super Bowl, too.
High stakes that have for weeks put all major and minor muscle groups through the wringer. So to get your best game on, across multiple skill sets, and pull out even more of those related skills you didn’t need absolutely, every snap by every snap, during the long season itself — you know what happens when such sinew isn’t frequently tested — you might need to see your therapist.
Not that kind. Not a shrink. The one that really gets results.
Being physically and even mentality therapeutic. Or even spiritually.
And sometimes they fly on a plane with the team. Have a table and such and will travel.
We are talking about certified massage therapists. And their often necessary work has not been tabled due to what follows.
This multi-level rejuvenation would seem — and this is probably being way too kind — to be what a certain NFL QB rising to stardom was after, but then took liberties, as massive as a nose tackle? I’m sure the therapists did not elevate the mood by using platitudes like My Dear Watson.
However still, his ongoing damaged muscles did not too much damage in the postseason.
I guess she needed to, using an industry term, work deeper and not what’s done to a cornerback in a football fly pattern.
Although one effort could aid the other.
With that said, its always best to play it straight. But she might not. Even if its just a slight bend of norms and rules, largely unwritten, to do the best job on your aching muscles possible, hitting 90 percent but not all of them.

— Its all a matter of court support, but the same old, same old how you been come again April? Libs vs. Rebs. Dammit Janet. The endorsements in that killer Supreme Court contest do concern who sits on high, at least in Wisconsin, but pundits have said that concerning this country, this is as key a race, and its money spent, as it gets. So much that AP and me decided to staff ourselves into the election war room, that being the county clerk’s office. See Notes From The Beat. —

But back to that main massage matter, it has been only recently that a resolution, as least as a start, on such done-legally-massage limits came forward, through the media perhaps more than any of the particular courts who weighed in. But talk to the women employed as such therapists and how their lives were upturned, as an NFL quarterback was called on the carpet big-time for making unwanted sexual actions to a whole host of massage therapy workers — dually licensed and not the kind you’d find in a seedy district of old and crumbling buildings.

Maybe this feedback from my personal experience, if it is even valued, is late in coming since the legal has been settled. Someone like myself should better understand deadlines.
But as a man who has seen any number of such therapists over the years for muscle pain from my Tourette Syndrome, I understand the many and varied nuances that comes from such a relationship, especially if a rapport is built over time. Simply put: People being people flirt just a bit, sometimes with what they do physically, and not necessarily the ones on the receiving end of such muscle work. Let me be clear here, and this in no way condones anywhere near a free-for-all for anyone involved. The very subtle movements of the massage therapist’s hands and forearms, where they on the body operate and using what progressions, and how movement of fingers and even elbows work, can be carefully tweaked and maybe not even done intentionally to enhance (and occasionally incorporate) subtle male-female interaction. However, most people that include myself, will not think anything of it, since they understand it is what it is and nothing more. But with very slim wink-of-an-eye-style and flash-of-the-eyelash-but-involving-touch benefits, such as they pertain to massage? And if someone pushes a limit oh-so-slightly, that does not mean in any way that she’s acting on being “into you.” Look at it, any kind of personal space is by necessity forfeited anyway with massage therapy. Not any more forceful than that often-spoken-of chance while-being-rung-up, conversation in a checkout line, where he held your arm for a moment in the process of carrying your groceries. Or if it was icy, taking her upper arm for a longer period so she would not fall, but then accidentally touching what’s inside her armpit, but also just below. But should it be noted, these last two are cases of men taking the action. So its viewed moreso as standard behavior by society.

Volumes can and will be written about such nuance, so here we go:
This action from a short-term therapist, in-between others with longer stints with me, (no judgment made). Midstream, she suddenly pulled down my undershorts a few inches — or should I say centimeters — without warning, (I was lying on my stomach), then announced that it is the glutes that often need a lot of therapeutic work. I took that comment as such — I didn’t really care about that action or read much into it — but could she have provided a bit of forewarning? If working on a niave newbie? She had been abrupt in her speech and in retrospect maybe there was some bit of sexual politics and power at work here?
Her predecessor did something similar with a bit more warmth and a lot more laughter. Saying this is what’s needed to fully rub-out each forearm, forget the glutes, she clasped my hands and brought my arms, one than the other, tight to her cleavage. That was necessary to hold-on strong and accomplish the physical goal of relieving my tightness there. Apparently I had typed one or two too many articles earlier that day.
Again, get over yourselves guys. She seemed to have a rapport with me, but that is not atypical and doesn’t mean she wants to take to bed you or I, or if seen in a random encounter while out, give a careful soft hug or quick kiss beyond the cheek, if even that, (hey I’m old for starters). If only to maintain a valuable and professional sense of propriety, as she worked on you in close quarters, and share just a chuckle or three, then see you next time, hope you are leaving stress-free from soothing touch.
Nothing implied here, at all. The re-positioning of arms and hands works wonders when its done correctly, and thus therapeutically — after all, people are required to go to school and get licensed before they can practice it — and a guy (or girl) client should appreciate that extra effort, as it is hard work, and leave it at that.
A third therapist enters the picture, the one with whom I had the longest term, and maybe just a very little bit of what I ran past you before. But noteworthy? We would joke and laugh frequently and is that not what therapy in a broad sense is all about, period? And period? (But what the workers in the next room thought about such jovialism was again, joked about).
“I don’t do chests,” said one therapist who used her slightly sharp elbows to work large muscles deep. I’d uneasily floated the idea without being specific, as the sternum is where I have my most stress and pressure, but the answer left me feeling kind of icky for even putting it out there. But these workers can tip you off to what you could do instead as self-massage — for your torso and the opposite arm, and obviously not the back or legs unless you are a contortionist — so get your head out of your balls.
Would I view all these things differently as a 21-year-old, fresh out of the gate? And re-evaluate and adjust behavior at 25? (That’s about the age of the QB who stupidly let this put him in not-to-be-excused legal and moral trouble). Maybe a bit of both “age” answers, moreso the latter, but I wonder what does a person who uses such an abuse of power think about women? Where if anywhere does he set his personal limits, as his behavior was obviously much more aggregeous than that involving some fleeting brush of touch — again as part of what is, at its core, relief of physical pain — to his or even her low-level erogenous zone, even if that grasp is held for seconds running.
So that’s the end. Or beginning of a conversation? As I must say as a writer, appropriate choice of words that could be seen as having a double meaning was an almost-every-sentence wrangle here. How to use basic terms like relaxation, tension relief, and during the encounter.

Mark in red your calendars like a scarlet letter of coming spring, and carry on each coming Thursday with a killer karaoke contest, per a two-fer as that’s been my buzz word lately, of a pair of different but related (could have been) pub crawls still this weekend in New Richmond.
There is the first-time karaoke contest on Thursday the 16th, originated by one of the newer deejays at the Wild Badger, and a (followup) mini-golf event two days later, on the 18th.
As far as the mini-golf, in a recurring late-winter rally, this kind of cabin fever crawl is sponsored by Surly Beer, and is featuring numerous venues in New Richmond as sponsors, besides the NR (and not always specified) inside course itself. OK, I can now give it as Ready Randy’s, and through the supper hour with chances to win prizes for having the first hole-in-one for a hole. And don’t discount costumes. And oh that Badger, as it will conclude for you to Carry On Wayward Son into that night by featuring a darts tournament with the unheard of 200 percent payback. And that will also go on each Saturday for several weeks.
Hey, that costuming could help with the karaoke contest too, as you as singers will be judged in different categories, including duets as a starting example, from their endless play list. This will go on Thursdays at Wild Badger for six weeks, and the next category is song selection merit. (The initial idea was to put together a legitimate karaoke crawl, after Valentine’s Day has left us, but it for now will be strictly in-house). With trivia beforehand, and that’s not trivial as one phase leads into the next.
Rather than do the standard list of in-the-hole contact info and “for more information,” we’ll reference one of the other mini-golfing sponsors — that being Bobcat’s — via the flyers on the inside of their door and also farther inside the bar. Oh, and you can call the local Chamber of Commerce as well.

Also Saturday, there’s a relatively new band in town, or at least at the Willow River Saloon in Burkhardt that’s a haven of classic rock and country. The name says a mouthful, Younger than Mike. That’s ‘cuz the living legend on the court, if not on the stage, that is Michael Jordan just turned 60. And we all want to be Like Mike. Or maybe just most of us, regarding an occasional contributor and master of metal concerts by that first name, who has Jordan beat in age by at least a decade.

Hey dad in rehab. My brother and his son are coming over for a game of Sheepshead during the Super Bowl, mark my words. A way to pass the time before halftime, then tune if for the real deal second half. Report back on who won, either game.
So its been a while since the last blast of football, at any level. So check this out before hitting the sports bar in a bit … and we’ll here-on-in keep the games to what’s on the grid.
And this being the Super Bowl, we have to reference Super wardrobe malfunctions, this time on yet another bus trip by a look-alike to Janet Jackson (see a shoutout to Bo below) with heavier-set legs and booty. Yes, there were the couple of bunny slippers, but also this muff, she was reaching for her bag on her tippy toes and very by accident backed into my hand on the armrest with her … you can imagine, or should I say guess, the rest. Apologies all around. (I don’t think she will get any of the endorsements, such as they are, for the best blazer or jazziest dress or hawking hairdo, that are listed at the end of the credits of such Super shows, to dress up the sideline reporters and/or commentators in studio too. Walking billboards for ads all?)
Then the sign on the freeway, touting Bison Transport, could be in addition referring to a University of North Dakota quarterback throwing for 390 yards.
Then enter Jim McMahon, the old Bears QB, almost. I was looking for a second redo in the fashion and flair of dress, with that man who these days runs the Bengals, with the same types of stripes. Both are in their outfits and otherwise, their own person, in a daring way that’s spoken but seldom seen. Anyone else notice that?
And do you remember the sports nickname of the day, back in the day, The Big Hurt? That could have been in meaning, something of these days the fan-tastic, but not if you’re a fan, injury that was found so only by the opposing team — the one that sidelined a QB by the name of Hurt. Ouch that truly Hurts!
And running back Bo Jackson, remember him, and his ilk were noticed as among the best for various things in various sports that included running the bases involving, uhm, football too? Duo or trio sports in even besting Jordan, Jackson did.
This could be touted on The Talk, as far as commercials, another Super theme. A song by Blind Melon, remember them, for if I recall a Frozen Tundra-worthy truck. But more like an edge rusher, not a Monster Truck. And that nephew referred to in the lead, the high school-ager? He knew of edge rushers but not of The Thing like it from back in my day, The Edge, guitarist for U2. Who? The Who? Didn’t know them either.
And I bet this is more you did not know, and I know to add this in here because The Look had something to do with looking like goalie helmets, of the hundreds of styles out there. Meant to be intimidating like pitcher long hair and ‘stach. Under the helmet and/or hat? But on a coach? I digress majorly. But there was some such an appeal to the head coach of Shawno, elsewhere in the Midwest then Shawano, for that would be eastern Wisconsin, not far from Lambeau Field. Something to do with a grid title game for either the WCFA or WFCA, as I saw it spelled both ways Down Below on the sports bar TV. Then came a tornado warning over That Space, good until 5:15 for Otter County. And the star QB’s name? Goes by Ott. Last name only.
There was lastly a couple of years ago, and for your grub if you got it early, ye ol’ Batman theme/designed pizza for, what then was coming up in two days, Valentine’s Day. No heart there. For only the Joker and/or Green Riddler.