The primo option for Halloween Haunt Trick or Treating this year will offer literally hundreds of scary-but-not-too-much-so creatures at a place new to the whole scene, and they are only getting started, with new waves of monsters being erected literally as we speak. This will be done through Saturday Night (Live, or rather Dead, you choose). So now re-read this post (details at its bottom) as you and your host can plan for it being bigger and better next year. Same bat time, same bat channel.
The drive-through, Big Time candy giveaway is at BOH Electronics, (standing for Boatloads Of Haunts?), for a full three hours, for you late-goers. They are at 230 Monroe Street North, in what has been known even prior to this foray in an Ancient Netherworld, as The Old Car Shops, and their huge red-brick building, looks a trifle scary to boot. But only to the point where the kiddies won’t be too frightened going into the monster mix, and adults with more of a fear tolerance will love it, as well. That well-revamped-from-the-old-days plant the size of a football field and also high as many a pro punt, gives plenty of wall space for hanging creatures — such as the ones put up right away, skeletons that is. They are seen hanging out creepily while draped around what could be a mongo cage, on fire escapes on the second-floor level. They are in various states of head-detached-ness, although the skull was never far away, just like mother deer and Bambi in the woods — is that an appropriate reference in this post?  And soon they were seen literally climbing the three-story walls, (Think the cover art in Houses of The Holy by Led Zeppelin. Or unholy?) Or pasted to them, like so many other creatures, even “living” Screaming Trees, come big and come small, but in that case we’re talking Very Big. How many All Hallows displays take it to that height, as this place in North Hudson?
The employees are well behind that aspect and others also, bringing their “gifts” to a spacious back room, the size of seven, where all kinds of cryptic clowns and others are waiting for final assembly, which is being done hourly and on the fly between now at 5 p.m. Saturday. (This might be tricky, since there is wind advisory issued, meaning erection of a few things is being held off on until the very end, or things might fly away on their own accord, not be grounded like the creatures who are humans for a day job and plan to act up for you). That’s when the fun starts for trick or treaters and their candy search, which continues all the way through 8 p.m. So if you are one of those young boys, or others, who comes When The End Is Near and tries not to look scared, you have leeway from the zombies, at least where timing is concerned.
The decked-out building is located just a whip around the entry to the industrial park in North Hudson, bending to the north right after passing by the dance academy (and its thusly scared little girls?) The neighbor To The Near East was asked if the sign that is all over town could be put in her yard and she said that of course is OK, but could she head on over a bit ahead of time. Couldn’t wait for the goings-on to start, she said, both for this year and the version of the show coming next year. The signs were up in more and more places around the village as The End Was Near for Halloween to be come and gone, the efforts to place them at intersections all around increased, since this whole idea was hatched only the previous month. They show Motor Madness, drive-through reference, with a logo of a Grim Reaper with Black Flag riding what looked to be a combo of a Harley and a flattened out golf cart.  Since the idea is only a few weeks old, and the many other businesses around the industrial park said they really want to get involved and erect similar displays, making it an All In The Family Affair, so to speak, that part of it will have to wait until the next go-around. There is plenty of gravel space between the various Old Car Shops, and the mind melts when thinking about the various ways that they could team up and fill it with fun next year. After all, what this is all about after Sunday arrives, is that building of community has taken place, to take something that is indeed a bit ghoulish and turn it into something positive. And hey, lets face it, this too is just a good way to do business.

And if you’re busy with other trick-or-treating endeavors and hurry, you can still catch  a glimpse of all the creepies stayed-put after the deed is done and still hanging out to greet you, before they disappear into the night … Otherwise, see you next year!

(And for the adults, the only Game in Town heading northward is at T-Buckets in rural Somerset, and see a description of the show and its followup with pro football on Sunday, in this web site’s Picks of the Week department).

Around the neighborhood, and its not Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, although he also seems to have his mostly hidden Halloween self.
As seen on the North End of North Hudson, what is the first half of the license plate number for Big Bird’s big, bad Bentley? EVU. The Evil Emu … Eases gently from his Austin to his Bentley, so says Deep Purple …
And a jog to the south, there were a Lucky 13 of those little evil faces on lighted sticks that line a walkway and welcome trick or treaters. OK, plus one more, and not a smily face.
At a scene between, could be seen all kinds of small ghosts, the size of a squirrel, all in the same yard. They were hard to distinguish from the blobs of ice of a similar size that were scattered around them.
Propped up next to a bird feeder were more ghosts, crafted to look like something a bird other than Big Bird would binge on, but with a tail of an, again, squirrel. And that tail is dragging below into a veritable pumpkin patch.
The award for the most dwindling stretches of “spider web,” on the front door and the front windows and in the front row … but along strung along two different stretches of tap beer dispensers … But hey, rest assured, since this is at the now even more popular Starr’s Bar, those taps get good use, and for certain are not the bearer of stale ale.
Up the way, there is a spider the size of something you might see in a B-movie horror show, spreading out over much of the yard, thus putting it on our A List. It even obscured the political signs lined up along the house’s front wall, with furry dark legs reaching out toward the signs in a way that is even more scary than the coming elections! But there also are such creatures with yellow stripes mixed in, and I gotta say it, evoke images, some good and some unfashionably bad, of the old Christian metal group Stryper. Say hey, All Saints Day rather than Halloween? One of these was checked out big time by another creature who appeared love struck, again a squirrel. We all agree … We’d rather hear the music of the group The Offspring than take a gander at the offspring those two would propagate. Timely, since the group’s second best song, in my estimation, Self Esteem, was recently tabbed as the sixth best of its decade. So what do I know? I do know that, ungodly, the spider in a tree was knocked to the ground from … doing the nasty?

You can call it Election Day. Or you can call it Halloween Eve. Which is sillier? (Or are they the same). Toss-up worthy of counting chads accurately after my favorite bartender for wit, to wit being named Chad, has served you until last call, which is at 7:59 p.m. on Tuesday. But for the best in vaguely inaccurate at times satire on these things, continue reading this blog in coming days! Boo!
Here’s one example:
My No. One Fan, where art thou? That’s what she said. There are six business days left until Election Day, and my favorite editor as mentioned, in charge of overseeing the reporting on voting tallies at the just-in-time-for-elections newly discovered Eighth Continent — or wait that would be science And We All Know That’s Fake News — has not sent me my Gilded AP Press Packet yet. (Blame the Post Office). And I love the button of a press badge that says I’m somebody now since with Associated Press, which under the rule of Voter ID must be updated every four years.

Sturgis has celebrated many decades of annual travel and more destination, but there were partial road work closures to greet the cycles going up a hill before they hit the actual town recently. That logically would have created a clog not good for social distancing, but bikers are known for forging through, if not leaving their old ladies behind as an, in this case, spacing mechanism. That aside, for a change its not the virus that’s the villian, although that still could also also be seen upon arrival. Still, my main Sturgis old man, who literally has roared to the Dakotas for most all of those years of celebrations, said he would do it all again, like Ozzy has often said and they are about the same age, even come 20 years from now when the rally turns 100 — and he as well — and that would make in years my main Sturgis man well … Can I get back to you after his back is done aching from the last time? And see if his much younger cohort, a motorcycle mechanic from Baldwin who set up shop in one of its Dutch-style, windmill-type places, all the way up, will roam along through the boredom of southern Minnesota/northern Iowa farm fields to get there and immediately become more enthralled and enamored.
Oh wait a minute, I saw BOTH of them last night, at a new local hot spot as Sturgis would now have to wait until next year to be redone, even with all the broadened and flattened cycles the size of a small car that are out there. Did Forrest, the younger guy, actually go with to hit the rally, I asked. They kinda looked at each other back and forth — maybe that was kinda the absurdity of the question — then nodded in agreement that it was a duality, (and again sorry about the heavy metal reference, but they are into it as well).
Other holidays, and other days of note, that were effected by the weather and also the virus since it took full hold, include in rough order of impact, The Two Village Laden Motorcycle Runs, (again a theme), a boy and his annual Lake Mallalieu ice rink that can be seen rather than boat launches from the bridge when allowed by the iffyness of well frozen, Four-20, Mom’s and Dad’s days, July Fourth, Cinco De Mayo, and of course Easter. Of special note, in a way that built as months went on into the summer, are the antique car show in North Hudson, which began with autos forming a semi-circle around the site, then branched off to a building mode where eventually there were cars parking with their numbers growing in the center of things. And where 4-20 may have tanked, (my vape shop friend and possible advertiser was sitting right behind Forrest, the cycle guy on two fronts), although the possible celebrants as such may not fully remember, it continues to live on in the house building project on a very small scale, which you might think would be needed, in red painted numbers on the side of front wall. Or would that simply be the eventual address, when the walls are drywalled and siding erected and the numbers might be seen as buried treasure — again to those who remember. On one house down in what should have been descending order of address was a No. 425 painted on a big brick and also featuring an arrow. And doing it even worse as far as numbers of roofers in a tiny space, one name we won’t be able to forget as social distancing for years is was again, Going Down For A Time, Sturgis. And in the same time frame, but not as far over to the west, was the State Fair that wasn’t. Minnesota, I’d wanted to try two things — guess which ones — but there was no possibility as all sense of fair was I did find a voucher/ ticket stub for free entry, but would they honor it … even the way back machine says no, as it was from 2009. That was far older than the Way Back Burgers hawked by a restaurant somewhere way back from the freeway between St. Paul and Hudson, and no, we are not talking the Happy Days hometown drive-in or even whatever is the place that Sherman hails from. And does that decades-old Terrible Towel I found, State Fair style, count for anything as far as entry these days?
And we must mention the festivals that have gone by the wayside, such as Bluegrass Days and on the same site two months later River Falls Days, Pea Soup Days, Booster Days, Good Neighbor Days, the St. Croix County Fair (which suddenly had no need to a attract a crowd from the Near West), and most recently Pepper Fest, although the latter was one of those that lived on via golf tournaments to the near east that were part of the deal. Need more than the movies as a preview on screen at the PepperFest Village Park. But for one screen that was repeatedly over the top … there was shown on it an ad for an ongoing weekly ravioli feed at Kozy Korner.
<And St. Pat’s Day is not the only half-year anniversary>
At home, we made up for it with three-layer shepherd’s pie, hamburger on the bottom, then mashed potatos then corn, divied up as far as volume, and again to taste, quick and cheap, simple and easy. And again, the various seasonings are probably in your cupboard right now and are not necessily that exotic.
A recent post dealt with the September half-St. Patrick’s Day, which of course has been seen to compensate for the St. Paddy’s Day That Never Was. Would also Easter have a six-month anniversary of observance? The answer might be yes in my neck of the woods, where so much story fodder falls into my lap. Take the family just up the block that is very diligent about celebrating religious holidays as, yes, a family and award-winning for it. The Christmas tree was up past certain holidays such as Valentine’s Day and even toward St. Patrick’s Day, as the above barometer. Then an Easter flag and likewise lawn poster took their place, and are still up today. Up and around in the next block has been a group of almost a dozen spring/Easter animals, largely the stuffed kind, attached to tree trunks and the like as part of what we would describe as a wild island, just past the curb. (A sign was added lately that said, jokingly because their display is cool, weeds for free. You just have to pick them). And even now, there are two more animals left from the spring thaw that also even made it through the summer heat, a frog creature that now is obscured by some of those weeds, and a teddy bear twined to a tree trunk with wire that has small barbs. Hey, he is imprisoned, I would say, until the next Easter season comes around.
Going back, Groundhog Day was proven to be a trick, as that furry animal saw what was likely to come and gave up the ghost, more than a half-a-year before these days and the approaching Halloween. And with that movie, I have to reference Bill Murray and his long-term Dick’s Bar connections, knowing the long-time owner well. And then for April Fools Day … that previous statement was true, by the way … who but some of our voters have been the fool? Still exercise that right to the most beneficial degree possible

Into The Evening with garage rock bands may be the closest thing we have to a concert these days, as actual gigs are still limited, but find out about those in the following:
— What of the days of the garage group, as was the essence of a small and intimate version of an open mic night at the birthday party of our friend Liz, two times over, (and her modeling take on Marilyn was pictured up on the wall). That’s how, going to the wall, many times I saw Bob the guitarist in consecutive days recently, when he said in the Ice Cream Man aisle, Hey Joe, and I Am Pleading With My Eyes with you, if you know of anywhere I can bring my real six-string and turn it into a gig, even if it’s just open mic or underground, please let me in on the show dates. And lets get the band back together again for some of those open mic sessions that go back over two decades, he implored me. He had been without his All Along The Watchtower, courtesy of yours truly, for way too long. Then we met inadvertently a couple of added times over, and the void was met in a way. But again, what about Bob? He just said he had found a new place to play on occasion — of course a garage band in an actual garage. And not the five-car-wide kind. That was at the Village Inn, where I again encountered him in short order, as in a second time there, on a much slower night, and he was Tumbling The Dice as in The Stones, but don’t know if he was Getting Any Satisfaction. Appears to be on the short end.
— Is this Mike ready to grab the mic again, as in days, or even decades gone by? “Yeah, good one. There are few gigs any more.” So just regular work and lots of it. Much like a lunar eclipse in regard to regular occurrence, said this large Lueneberg of a man and former guitarist for the band Red Over Lunar. Thusly, they were always spread out on the stage, right and left, and hard for me to photograph. He did say the last time I saw him, about a year ago and also at the former Freedom Valu Center in North Hudson, check online for the new band of former bandmate Kerry Boesel, but this didn’t show great search results.
— It was the Indy 500 on our street and extending into the cul-de-sac — see further on — with two children on their bikes becoming the new version of what had been termed The Cul-de-sac Kids by my neighbor Ron, the ringleader of the crew and its small version baseball even if only an asphalt infield, but at least they had Game. They were going round and round, over and over, on Cherry Circle, but then took a break, and it kind of turned out to be a drum break. I soon heard a beat of various tempos coming from where they had rested their spokes and themselves. I never was able to determine what actually was causing the thumping noises. Maybe the kids a bit later, who were running circles on their X Games-type bikes around their leaf covered lawn. For more about such kids, and fitting percussion into most any scenario, see the next two items.
— And what about those kids in the Lakefront Park bandshell, (screw the Hudson Star-Observer stylebook, as was put together by former publisher Jay Griggs), who were doing what comes naturally to kids in such a setting, no not skateboarding, which you used to see a lot, but yoga!
— And Doug my friend, the thrower of all those great holiday parties where no one got drunk but everybody got off on the conversation and great globs of gourmet grub you put out, but only with a bunch of people clamoring around a small kitchenette — ouch! And … oh yeah .. where perchance is that potent predeliction for persistent percussion, faux as it was, that you were also known for flying into if only using arms at a moments notice. Also is/was the official Vikings tailgate deejay, prior to the virus keeping people from rocking out, (granted his style is more pop-ish). Karaoke as thus, is now back but hard to find. The killer version at Ziggy’s in both Hudson and Stillwater on Tuesdays, is now the only place that married couple plays on an active basis, when they not long ago were all over the scene. The Hudson Bowling Center still has their twice a weekend karaoke, but only on alternate weeks, which is which is kinda hard for people like us to memorize, and that is also true of other avenues I will be publicizing on The Food Western Front. But one of the first venues to open back up to their long-running twice a weekend live music — and this is every weekend and should surprise no one — is the Willow River Inn in Burkhardt. But they are indeed matched in a very real way by another Inn, the talent often seen at The Bungalow in Lakeland, with the very “authentic” karaoke that was to segue into a costume contest via crooning on Halloween and via the staff dressed up in Roaring ’20s garb, and the like is still going these Fridays, because after years running, It Is How It Feels To Be Real. (Really real? Weekend update: There will not be the karaoke on Friday nights, because at least for now, live music has been “banned” all over Minnesota with no exceptions for holidays, I was just told. Things change fast in the virus era.
— Lastly on the theme of music is where you can find it, especially these days, is in the form of various pieces of broken plastic strewn across not just Cherry Circle but also Fourth Street, and a closer look revealed they were really all kinds of CDs and their housings. There they all were, a trip from when you could also find cassette tapes, works by Bryan Adams, like the lead item that referenced a first real six-string, and then Chris Issak. I asked a friend of mine who is into those kind tunes if he had heard of them (yes, sort of), and could sing them (not yet but he’d try). then there was the CD of The Calling (Two). We were perhaps the least familiar with that one, maybe the record labels had not exactly come calling for another take. Don’t Call Us Child, We’ll Call You? Then the fourth and final CD on the street, balancing on a manhole. Like the rhythm guitarist that rounds out the band, is an artist whose name escapes me. But my friend had sung a bit of his stuff. But what about the rest? Could he listen to some of the tracks and sing them? Only if he could go Jimmy Jamming the partly broken CD into his equally banged up tape player. Until then, since he was rehabbing a badly broken arm at a local nursing home, he would have to settle for listening to streamed music at services from St. Patrick’s Church in the big main room, but nearly as sizeable as a concert hall. He’s thought that however, for that particular purpose, the tunes were made out to be too modern. He was joined by a few others, two bands worth, who seemed to agree, but hey, eight is enough, especially in these days of social distancing. But For Those About To Rock, it will soon again be a mainstay, we hope, at St. Pat’s as the lead service to kick off every weekend; the liturgist is well versed in stuff that rocks out, not just Gospel and choral. And for something even more up-tempo, there is the youth band playing weekly at Bethel (Lutheran) Highlands, and other places such as Cornerstone/Crossroads (not the Eric Clapton version) that go toward progressive, as a guide for you.

The running of Frost Your Nuts 2020 was as nutty as ever, with the bluster of many of its macho motorcyclists showing early and often, As I Feel So Much Depends On The Weather.
A crotch rocket pulled out of the Kwik Trip parking lot around 11:30 a.m. by screaming southward at 40 mph. Others in groups followed suit, showing more street cred than respect for the signed speed limits, which dwindled from 35 to 25 at a point just north of them. Let’s face it, with law enforcement, such longtime functions are grandfathered in and it takes quite an offense to get pulled over. But there were socially positive things, such as all around, the typical honks and waves to passers-by, especially when it came to coasting past Kozy Korner, a benchmark in North Hudson.
But not all were so. A man in such a crew had just stepped into Guv’s Place, recently acquired by the Kozy Korner venue just a few doors down, then ventured out the door again and announced .. uhm, I’m not sure to whom … What, are you following me?
Across the street at Kwik Trip, there was another example of social distancing and masking not being at the forefront of people’s minds — especially if you are out for your first jog on your cycle in a while and have accumulated some stir-craziness. The guys as so often has been the case, got almost to the door before thinking that oh, I’m not wearing a mask at the moment, I’ll have to backtrack and see if there is one in my hog’s saddlebag, (is that the right term?)
Out at the other end of the parking lot, there were a couple of trucks each decked out in flags both U.S. and Trump supporting, getting ready to state their case to all those passers-by who were likely of their same ilk. And in the closest space to the door, there was a classic truck in great shape, having no rust, that featured a bumper sticker on the rear view mirror alluding to the need to be complascent (my word) and follow the Constitution, as it was argued, when it comes to support for rights both individual and constitutional, or you will have neither.
So on the way back home, I saw that yes, it was either the last or second to last weekend with the unbelievably balmy conditions — were these and other possible constraints that start but do not end with the virus, present in the Flood Run in September? — that met the rally, to go to the cabin and not go nutty on a Harley. A man I talked to over the summer has on weekdays an RV parked in a necessary way that still takes up most of his driveway, especially since the RV has a third-lane wing because more people then he use it in their treks Up North. It was not to be seen, although will likely be a fixture in front of his house before we get much further into October.
But all this transpired in the late-going, as when it got to be 11-ish in the morning, there were few if any cycles making the usually obligatory loop around Cherry Circle North, as a precursor to the grand release at noon. At times you could hear the roar from Fourth Street North, which is betwixt and between our cul-de-sac and the main highway. The only sign of life at that time was a neighbor who took his big hog out for a lap around, then pulled back into his driveway.
But when it was After Midnight and temps had cooled, there were not more cycles to be found, although their drivers usually hit the bars late and make a day and/or night of it. Instead, they were all nestled snug in their beds, with visions of Harleys past dancing in their heads. And on Sunday night, at the end of the cycle weekend, the balm had left all but in a sun-screen form and there was cold rain, with only one cycle roar to be heard, although fleeting.
(In a related story, see a post coming soon about how various factors unique to these days had an impact on Sturgis, it has a one-word name like a supermodel or Sabbath/Priest/Maiden. And how one local oldster plans to hit it again and again, with an anniversary coming, and just might keel over on the road, like Ozzy will probably die on stage doing .. what? .. what they both love).

(For more such statute political commentary — it is indeed so, as was said in a comment under About — check out this web site throughout the coming month and hope that the ghoulies won’t get either you or Trump; they wouldn’t bother with Biden, too bland. The same could not be said about Eddie Van Halen, as he is eulogized in a manner that brings in Hudson, in the department Uncategorized).

I never thought I’d be writing this as soon as you see now, but this may be the day when we wrestle with some of the most important questions since the Cuban Missile Crisis, again stated as You’re Still Hard To Handle Now. Where were you and what were you doing when JKF was assassinated?
(My wife was at the forefront here, as she was watching her favorite Regional TV Cartoonish Show That Will Never Make It Big Because of Lack of Aptitude, But Is About a Man and a Train. Mommy, the question was asked, why is my fave dumb shit show being pre-empted? Oh, my God, JKF is shot and dead, came the response, and mom went running into the next room crying. I have heard the story many times, and it bears repeating).
The difference? At least JFK had something to offer the country/world. You now doubt have heard the thing, unless you are living in a cave in the Siberian outback/hacker enclave, that Trump has the very virus he failed to abort, focusing rather on babies yet to be born. And it was bantied about in the Sunday papers today, both of them in my metro area, that the next 48 hours will tell the tale. (So tune in to the 48 Hours TV-Mag Gone Stupid for the result, with the only slightly edited, repetitive references to the same staid topic over and over to cater to the, well, stupid, unlike when it was that I sat in a courtroom for a solid week for their rag’s local competition, when journalism actually was journalism. This even though the national TV correspondent seemed more interested in getting into the Leader-Telegrams reporter’s pants than actually reporting the news, with their annoyingly recurring twist).
But I digress, and maybe that is the point here. Trump is all about digressing. And not keeping his pants on. But to get back to it, I was sitting with a friend as she roamed the bastion of current news that is Facebook, with ugly dog photos tried to be made pretty, and oh yeah, that great post from a long-last friend who was now coming over and making her giddy, and saw a reference to Trump has a virus. Let’s face it, we all thought STDs rather than Covid for The Invincible one, and that’s what would finally get him. But then there was another reference, and another as midnight approached, and then someone was brave enough to post what everyone was thinking: Hey, the virus is finally good for something. Creating karma, one misdeed at a time.
<The philesophical good for the sake of salvation>
I now have to admit, when Bush, the younger one even moreso than the late Elderberry Bush, was spewing his screw-the-country-for-the-sake-of-oil decisions, some of us said amongst each other in private that it would be for the good of the country and the world that someone Would Take Him Out. Now it is time for me to put my money (mere coins Thanks To The One That Raped All But The Rich, and Maybe I Now Have To Add Only The Mega-Rich), where my mouth and failing computer are, and confront my previous Nightwish: Do I Really Want Donald Dead, to serve the common good? All this transpired while listening to not Death, the extreme metal band as that was later in the night, but Jailbreak from Thin Lizzy, and with Donald maybe they would amount to the same thing if he didn’t break out. But still — The Demise of the Donald? Seems extreme, not prudent. And this is moreso than the fact he makes writing about folly so easy for me. Deep in my soul, now re-thought, I do not want him to get what he deserves. These days, on many fronts, it is not easy to be an empath.
<So where from here?>
Maybe after all is said and done, Trump will gain a greater sense of humility, civility and compassion. OK that’s a tough one to believe, but maybe, just maybe …
A doctor Gupta was quoted as saying that Trump’s chances to beat this are very good. (I remember that name from living with and reporting about Tourette Syndrome). Whew? Cringe? But against him are age (only erectile at this moment), obesity (don’t look good in those whitey tighties anymore), and “underlying medical conditions,” (maybe prompting a recall, like had only been seen in the auto industry, amongst all those escorts in Russia) …
And in Russia, Hackers Anonymous better get tested, and their computers double-down disinfected, even if that puts them on an (Interpol?) database …
Lastly, as far as “tracking” the news that some Congressmen flew on a commercial airline after being closely associated with Trump, so maybe they need to get a waiver if they are indeed running for re-election, which gives them a blank check …

So the Great Debate has come and gone, and as I could have told you earlier that day, it was flagged by many members of the media as a crazy fest between two candidates grabbing for power via personal attacks as much as policy. Crazy Fest? That would have been how the Chicago Tribune travel section hawked via their headline when I put them even further up the charts via my 25-column-inch piece on the Hudson Hot Air Affair, and drew the ire of the locals a bit because it was portrayed that way so many times, at the start because of the way they billed it themselves.
Anyway, I’m going to let you in on one of the hidden ways the media works on deadline, based on those work-your-asses-off small dailies I slaved for at the start of my career. You wrote the sample headline and lead for the County Board meeting the night before they actually met, assuming you already knew how the key item’s vote would take place the next morning. And I doubt that the overworked reporter would have spoken to a large number of people to frame their advance prose, just take a guess from background seen in committee. So you would go to the gathering, which was typically a bunch of old available-in-the-morning-retired geezers, (and not Geezer Butler from Sabbath), voting on something like a bunch of new kids equipment at the local park. Yawn, and predictable, and not finished soon because of the obligatory break for lunch. So at that point, and maybe before, the local scribe would hustle on down to the office to finish and revise what had actually now been verified — and you’ve got 15 minutes to wrap up your story, with an editor occasionally standing behind you to push you even (recklessly?) faster. And let the copy editor fix the typos on the fly. County Boards even more than other local government forms are notoriously boring.
But what if they did something not foreseen like vetoing the two-laned slide for the kiddies? Only one lane needed, filibustered The Conservative Masters Of The Coin. Oh my God, and I thought my lead as was about the going against party lines, and the mayor’s twins going on the first ride down the slide in front of the cameras. Cripes, no photo opp, and how can I fix my story at beyond light speed? The Printer Master awaits!!
That’s what I first thought of about the headlines after Cage Match 1 the other night. It was basically the same headline I’ve seen since the invention of the typewriter, I surmised. But maybe more too this … After all Trump is as inflamatory as Attila the Hun, but the Democrats prize themselves on greater civility and tolerance. But aren’t those the things we weighed when dropping the Atom Bomb? Although it seems Trump was the epitome of the anger and the calls for greater debate decorum — keep the babbling overruns to 30 seconds and not 45.
God, until the County Board chimes in with something actually important, maybe we’re stuck with a cat fight over who gets to be First Lady.

Have you ever noticed how much trouble the GOP has in finding a truly bad photograph of Joe Biden to use against him in its mailings to dutiful U.S. taxpayers? Or for that matter, most any national Democratic candidate? And closer to home, that went double for my friend Liz Jones, who ran successfully for School Board and also took a stab at the state Legislature, being defeated by a Republican who had been in office since the time of the New Deal, I swear, but at least they have another former model, Melania.
And that brings us back to The Big Guy, as I’m sure he would like to be known. Unless this is really a matter of photo-shopping and selectivity, Trump just can’t seem to look good in a photo. In a TV promo for Monday night’s debate, Trump looks like one of my funny uncles in face and forehead, as well as girth and of course, hair. But Biden makes the cut as being OK. Be your own celebrity judge on a Stream Live on The Roku Channel, in the Shining Light of Election 2020, with the zeros kind of obliterated. And not on the twos that are left untouched? LikeTwins? The Twins? Like the Bushes twins. And would that play well in the Twin Cities, based on the Biden blitz on KQRS. Why that station?
So beat the Bushes during this campaign, in two different ways, part like hitting the booths to support like father like son? And Biden even looks more like the late elder Bush than an average Joe.
So I quote: “Coverage starts: 8PM ET | 5PM PT. Debate: 9PM ET | 6PM PT. Watch free. Election 2020 Schedule.”
One last thing? Is photo shop even a thing anymore?”

This might as well be considered a two-minute Pack Attack warning, even though as my wife always points out when her Vikings falter, that can take a lot in Real Time. So when the quarter turns, just check out the fridge, cupboard and even freezer …

How to get comfort food and of course the accompanying drink, and still keep your wallet comfortable. Here are some ways where having such at your party is not as financially burdensome as say, concert tickets, unless just maybe they’re old warhorses that are NOT touring in support of their latest release.
Better yet, to lead-off, yes it’s a baseball reference teamed with the football being played by the Packers minutes from now, and gives you a chance in a good way to raid the refrigerator, these two EBT-based offerings I’ll reference are next to freebies, as the alcohol end believe it or not is legit as far as paying by food stamps, even for the alcohol value.
— So you can have a rimless margarita, but take care to cut it off at a very small shot glass full, or half-full if you’re an optimist, unlike most drunks that are even among the most giddy. Marsala wine or also cooking wine are covered by EBT for free because they have a legitimate chef-like purpose (OK inflated metaphor), and the alcohol value if that’s what you’re after is primo. But a big proviso, dilute the following big time because it is so salty, and thus is telling the dangers of the salty sea with nothing actually to drink via both the Old School metal song and ancient poem, Rime of the Ancient Mariner. And this could be a glass half-empty, to follow my lead. Pour into a small glass a quarter of the wine, still potent but not like I would take advantage of that, and mix in the majority to near filling with water and Coke, then add a bit of rum (all to taste). Its You Better You Better You Bet, and there can even be the accompanying salted nut roll drink in a glass, as touted by a recent edition of a St. Croix Valley magazine. Note: If your guests have refined tastes, in other words are picky, definitely sample this yourself first before freely giving. Saving a bunch of dough isn’t worth an unhappy houseguest, take it from having my in-laws over. Maybe during a timeout for a commercial? An appraisal? Quality control? Maybe even keep it for yourself?
— And then this Bananarama for pennies, maybe what you see on the ground walking inside with mask — hopefully not obstructing your downward view — to pay for your gas (lets face it we all do this) to see coins on ground that can be scarfed up. The key to the mix is a scant bit of liquor that mixes in real fruit, and you can enhance that with a real banana, to go with the banana cream pie “lick,” my buddy’s favorite word of description. Then top it off with cream from dairy, after all this is Wisconsin, even though not East Enders. So how is this even more a near freebie? You can add vanilla extract, which has almost as much alcohol as the liquor itself, and stretches your budget as well as your taste buds (?!?), and in this way, like the above recipe, is free via ETB so mix it in for added flavor. And Kwik Trip, around most any corner, can trump this in two ways. There are bags of several pounds of, really, day-old bananas and not later, and they are only a mere dollar! They cut their losses and you get enough bananas for a chimp to live on for days or more. And if a chump, you can also buy them by the pound for a mere 39 cents, or less when on sale, if your party is small. (For other comfort food purposes, to supplement, that same price exists for potatoes and onions, everyday). But back to the evening of what is already in your fridge, as far as the food end, likely get on the street tacos theme that’s being embraced by virtually all of the late night clubs, cut such tostada-type-things into quarters and pour on all those Mexican faves, meat, cheese, salsa and hot sauce (just what is the difference?), peppers and other vegies, (sour cream and/or guacamole), even spritz of orange, that are sitting in there by the gallon behind the milk. You have a bunch there already, but just in case you need specific examples, I’ll follow up soon with all the crazy ideas you would expect from this site. Think of an offbeat form of garlic that really enhances, I was told, my make-shift garlic bread. Think dark.
— Then there are more crackers and slash other finger food. Bananas coins again, s’mores style with with heavy cream and other dessert style toppings such as syrup(s) and honey and even even peanut butter, all on top of graham crackers, and maybe include some cream cheese. Sprinklings to taste. And also cucumber flats on saltines, (some might like trimmed vegetable edges as well as peel the bananas, of course), on top of any kind of cheese, or more than one, and virtually all colors of spicy mustard or the like.
Seattle Grunge versus down home Wisconsin? At Starbucks, or possibly in your cupboard already, there is Caffe Verona, which may indeed be too sweet roast to be grungy, as in sweet with dark cocoa, and that may fuel your party with something more tasty than usual coffee, approaching the form of that killer dessert — come on, as a hostess, that you really want that to top things off. The brew started in Seattle decades ago, before grunge, then spread to the namesake variety out west, which also is the name of a town near Madison. (see below). The form of key ingredients at one point took the take of an 80/20 “blend” as that is the coffee industry term ordained down in Columbia, I think. It could also be referenced as having the beef that’s well seasoned for your nachos, (and sorry Wendy’s, because you have the ratio better), and thusly could be likened to 3.2 beer Over There. Yes, it calls itself very dark roasted as coffees go, but I have always been one to not fear the darkness, to a point, So Isn’t It All Dark? You get the Pink Floyd reference from Dark Side of the Moon.
That town near Madison From Above, is what you could do on your notorious Wisconsin Death Trip via the song, as it is based from where Ed Gein took people apart, and you don’t even have to go Milwaukee and Dahmer. (No, I am not suggesting cannibalism. That’s up to a select few heavy metal bands I will review later on, not as bad of bands as they might seem). So when you go to Verona, stop off where the Wisconsin River diverges westward, and is not too far north of V, and we’re not talking about the old TV series. That’s where much of the mint from the US is grown, as Wisconsin is indeed more than just dairy. Where do you think you get your ginseng? How to use this in recipes? So like money, this is still Being Minted, so tune in later. I do, although you might not see this, have a word limit; but wait, that was in newspaper days when the price of news-printable paper skyrocketed for decades, more then the federal debt. And you thought it was the Internet that keeps papers from being viable?