As we now have spring, or are near it, certain doors open, and others close, as even as we’ve seen in so many ways lately, the fickle traffic to which the nightlife scene caters, ebbs and flows, with the weather.
Or like the need to go. Literally. The news was pronounced by a doorman as I walked down that same old sidewalk, as I had done hundreds of times before, to an old club that literally had existed for much more than a century. So even though I’d many times seen an old acquaintance and his business rivaling roto rooter, maybe the older building and its ilk of plumbing could use an upgrade …. The man had been there many a night, ready to go, when the club had just closed and the time was right. That is when they do such cleaning. Just ask a longtime woman friend who just got back in the biz, across more than one city.
It was less then 11 p.m. and the door, the captain said, was closed. Even though programmed to receive, they not for once as they bill themselves as never closing, usually very true except for things like this, were in the mode where it was not, that you could never leave ….
They were ushering people out as, God forbid, as he just might consider it and its glam patron-dancers a shitshow, the glitz gave way, as their shitter had shitted out! It wasn’t working and the place was now closed.
Right away, before I could even laugh too much and get around the nearest corner, people on the near sidewalk and across the curb were lamenting about how they would now be able to pee. Both men and women, so I take it there was more than one toidie that temporarilly conked out. At least this shows that business (had been) good. The mind reels more. Would the bouncers give those who needed to leave a passcode for The John, and its door, to expire if not used in five minutes?
I assume they got all things fixed so they could fix Bloody Mary’s, a hallmark of theirs, in the morning. Maybe they made an emergency, come-after-hours call to the plumbing route-it-out guy, but he could have been out bowling or enjoying other types of nightlife, broadly.

— But other doors were opened up here, as the elements decided which way they would go, even as they again were being fickle, In Through The Out Door? Downtown, even before the Hudson Tap thrust forward its as-such open door policy, which they next-day did, the Awakened Soul shop had their main of two doors flung free, and the same was true of Seasons Gallery. All at a full 90 degrees. —

Back to my cleaning gal, who will not cut corners. See obviously has a green thumb, despite her protestations, saying she kill anything that should grow. We both like Metallica, although she as usually a fan had questions about my karoake version, now done a second time, of Welcome Home (Sanitarium). So all things considered, maybe I should try instead, The Thing That Should Never Be. As one of her new and very small plants, that never made it past the small-bit-of-stringy-stuff-stage, both of them sentimental in nature, died right away and another flourished. To the point that in this not-quite-May, it already was as big as a bush. Her gmail photo(s), of both, do prove it. So I must reference Metallica again, and their song that recently re-caught my fancy, over the Easter holiday and we’re not just talking lilies here, rather the band’s inspirations that prominently include the classic Biblical epic The Ten Commandments … that being the anthem Creeping Death. I quote: “I will be with thee, bush of fire.”
Could have used some of that, in a more balanced way, during the recent thunderstorm disparity that really pointed up climate change. Open door(s), depending on where you live. While here it was cold and windy and rainy and generally nasty, down in the other end of the state, the nearer-than-north, southeast part that is Milwaukee, they were pushing 80 degrees. A guy outside the library had on a hoodie that was closed to a parka, while down there at the beachfront, lord can only imagine, as I know what the new coeds wear this time of year, when the time is right.
They, or Iowa as they are us, were a couple of days later on the high (pressure?) end of a huge weather front that crossed the continent north-south almost to the doorstep of my niece in Texas, as in Austin. She is quite the flashy one as far as fashion, and I wonder how the disparity of her being just-south-of-the-situation effected what she did?
But doors were opened up here, as the elements decided which way they would go, even as they again were being fickle. Downtown, even before the Hudson Tap thrust forward its as-such open door policy, which they next-day did, the Awakened Soul shop had their main of two doors flung free, and the same was true of Seasons Gallery. All at a full 90 degrees. But the latter two did not replicate today, even when it got warm, replaced in that mode instead by Ziggy’s.

(Note: This is the first of an occasional series on super-cool-but-still-smokin’ area deejays, karaoke and otherwise, and charismatic bartenders.)

The longtime karaoke deejay (doing both) at Bobcat’s in downtown New Richmond and other venues, who goes by the stage name Shakin’ Dave because of his jiggly dance moves that evoke Jimmy Buffett and his lowkey shorts and floppy shirt, often shifts and shimmies left and right and does a dip of his shoulders like a Drop C chord, when in action. Dave when at Bobcat’s in the back — which is more central then you might at first note — by the karaoke booth, or when out mingling with the crowd with swagger and moves like Jagger, making me think samba or salsa, while the songs are spinning. The decorative dice are indicative of someone who can roll, and rock, as are displayed on his business card.
He has over years honed his act, where like many deejays, he has some themed music ready to go. Dave’s just-getting-the-party-started early choice when buses of bachelorettes come in to let loose, is generally to instruct the groom, who likely is not in attendance, on just how to treat a lady — and show just what he might be in for. The brief monologue is followed by a song by Shania Twain, “any man of mine better walk the line.” And that’s only the start of such musical comedy. You can add in as foils the likes of Carrie Underwood and Miranda Lambert, and all three are experienced country music singers — and female. Their target audience with these songs, often grouped in threes by genre, leave only one question on the table, or dance floor: Who will whoop it up most, to follow The Shaker’s suggestion, the bride or a member of her party. Mom too.
But Dave’s got other genres going too — especially anything requiring a hat, maybe a floppy or even frilly one. Dave has plenty of them as part of his costume schtick, and a main one is more like a sombrero, not somber, complete with killer bright colors and numerous strings with small attachments at the edge of the brim. They are not quite to the point of being frayed, just jangle while he jiggles, in a way that can be uniquely lowkey and also remind one of actor Bill Murray’s deadpan demeanor. Put all this together and it works. Or Dave will play a fave song for you just for your listening to it, with the only vocals being those from the original singers, and not your friends acting as backup vocalists. As Dave — who has his presence felt across several endeavors and brings that experience and its banter to this as his night gig — will also spin it that way for you.
The bridal parties usually eat it up, just like wedding cake. Dave is also a main force in bringing in a crowd of regulars singing unusually creative tunes, across genres but not straying too much from them, who have also now started going to the Wild Badger for more of the same.
More recently, Dave pointed out the derivative nature of a band that essentially covered a song by Dobie Grey and played those numbers back to back, then talked up Beyonce covering the classic song Jolene by Dolly Parton and followed it with another remake done by Miley Cyrus. Good commentary, all around.
Dave has gotten behind some of my ragers, welcoming me to the spotlight in front of the stage with screen set at 90 degrees, and expertly prepping the crowd to best enjoy my rather far-reaching takes on these tunes. To wit: Hocus Pocus by Focus that approaches the heights of wild crescendo, You Got Another Thing coming with wailing by Judas Priest, and of course Stairway to Heaven as I try my hand at introducing vocal fills as per Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin. Dave doesn’t mind if I and others get a little outrageous; that’s his stock and trade when kept at controlled chaos.
But Dave is about more than just Bobcat’s. By the numbers, or the phrases, his business is called Dave’s PC and DJ, specializing in weddings, birthdays, graduations (like soon coming), anniversaries (the grandfolks love to rock too and sing more than just classic rock and country), reunions, parties and corporate events too … even maybe Martian Space Schuttle launchings?!? Featuring interactive karaoke and a sound and light show to fit any venue. Indoor or Outdoor.
New Richmond next to only Hudson is a destination place for bachelorette parties in far western Wisconsin. The pattern is for these crews that basically consist of the bridal parties and a few friends, to start at Bobcat’s, maybe even a bit before most local music typically starts, and around the time Bobcat’s weekend karaoke begins, then cross the main street over to the Wild Badger and other venues to the immediate north. Most of the nightspots are quite long and narrow, and people will filter through the venues and then go out to use the back alleys running parallel to the north-south main street, on either of the stretches to be found west and east.
You can find Dave at Bobcat’s every Friday and Saturday night from 9 p.m. to 1 a.m. Then back there on Sunday with a somewhat quieter and maybe folkier gig in the afternoon, from 2-6 p.m. and constitutes what usually is a rare time for karaoke. His email is a dead giveaway, see ShakinDave@Buddy-Technology.com.

The border battle that has framed Minnesconsin started with booze but has hit with hemp another stage, and not one with just mainstream pot back there, and backstage, by the roadies.
What is legal in one state is not in another. And vise versa. Makes it tough as thick rope to “weed” it all out.
When Minnesota non-marginalized marijuana, as in making it legal, it set in place a whole series of changes in the non-mainstream marketplace for various hemp and/or cannabis derived products. And not just involving the purchase of Grateful Dead tickets.
Drinks infused with garden variety CBD, and virtually no THC, had been found in some grocery store aisles in western Wisconsin for a few months running, but apparently the stigma that can be associated with having it on your shelf caused them to take it off in almost all cases, a store worker said. And there were market conditions effecting this, as the drinks apparently just didn’t sell all that well and were not as popular as joints. One medium-size grocer on the north end of St. Croix County simply sold out what stock had remained, on special in a mini-fridge next to some juicy energy drinks, then did not reorder, back in late 2022.

— A newer local CBD shop made the claim in an ad, back around Christmastime, that seemingly because of loopholes in regulations between states, you can get a higher THC value with some Wisconsin drinks, and maybe gummies, than across the river. —

That said, most of this was before Minnesota legalized weed. Since then, you can’t find these CBD-infused-only drinks such as seltzer water anywhere in my region, and not too much in the other end of the state, either, (with Illinois and its own laws to obey in tow.) They have been replaced, at least in Minnesota, with such juices infused with full-fledged cannabis — the now legal kind — with no CBD juice to be found, as of a few months back. I first noticed this, about a year ago, when going to a major upscale grocer, and the clerks, two of them, had no clue in which aisle to find CBD-infused drinks, which they had carried. With green veggies? Juices? And they weren’t just one row off. It turned out that the newer version, with real THC, was available at their liquor store component separated by a glass door, in a refrigeration unit. At about $25 for a small pack.
And even Wisconsin has its own version of its stronger CBD adaptation, inspired from The Delta, and not that of the Mississippi. Here in the Badger State, you can buy both Delta 8 (the equivalent, to make a caffeine comparison, of cola), and Delta 9 (more like Dew or even the Old School Jolt, before such CBD things rather than caffeine content were even conceived of.)
And now local companies such as Lift Bridge (although having fingers in both states) are jumping into the fray, with THC-infused juices that up the ante to 10 mg of the hemp-derived stuff in their 12-ounce mixes — labeled as two servings worth and no alcohol — up from the typical 5 mg. Then enter their peer from just down the highway, Oliphant Brewing, which has upped the ante to, a couple of notches up the scale, a 25 mg product — for only a few bucks more per pack — and one with 10 mg of both THC and the now-far-to-find CBD. The higher level drink shows, in one such case of its uncanny container art, showcasing a skeleton crawling on hands and knees and named Extinct, as in T Rex, the creature is pictured with that telltale leaf infused into its forehead. On either side, it shows vapes streaming from the eye sockets, but makes no reference to being a Delta product on its packaging.
A suggestion: In your best effort not to become yourself extinct, ha ha, it might be best to consume the 25 mg drinks in “fifths” to make the total only 5 mg, if you know what I mean, (in an NA and AA way to measure that kind of thinking.)
These products are right now the fodder of and for liquor stores and the burgeoning number of dispenseries, as Wisconsin debates fully becoming a state where you can smoke marijuana. There exist legal and marketplace reasons, and the word is out that six packs that are variety packs are coming, not just the four cans, but for right now, the gist is they are slimly found and run about $17.99 or higher with their cost not lessened by volume discount. Delta 8 runs you about three bucks less.
All of this placement in the market, not of a grocery store but as a business niche, means that kratom, which is said by devoted followers to make ebb a variety of ills, and is legal in most states such as Minnesota but not Wisconsin, has come way down in price at smoke shops in the Gopher State. It was once fairly pricy, but now people can buy enough to last a month, or more likely two or three or more as it can have bad side effects in higher doses, for less than a Benjamin. A question remains from this quagmire: It is staunchly illegal to sell kratom in Wisconsin, but are there major fines if you simply have it on your person, (there is now not much monetary incentive to have “intent to deliver.”)
How do the cops respond to the whole disparity, as the downfall of states rights is that any time you cross such a border you encounter a whole new set of laws, and they say ignorance of such is no defensible legal defense. The barflies have an opinion, back from the start of The Changes: If you are in a neighboring state and have THC on your person — but maybe moreso in Hudson than say, New Richmond — the nice officer just might preach to you that hey, you’re just so many yards or a few miles away from one of the 50 states where it’s legal, so just be quickly, but within the speed limit, on your way back there — if you have not indulged and thus are not intoxicated, a small sampling of patrons have said they believe. Of course these are some of the same people who have sworn that when police stop you, and if they have a squad blinker out, you can use that to get out of your own ticket. And if your drivers license, and I assume you have one, shows you live in the purple state where it’s legal, will that cut you any slack with the officer?
A quick review of a month’s worth of police and sheriff’s report records revealed that there were an average of between one and three incidents a week concerning THC possession in the River Falls and St. Croix County jurisdictions. (The most alleged violations seen continue to involve methamphetamine.) The breakdown provided to the Hudson Star-Observer each week by Hudson Police is not that specific in defining the nature of offenses.
All these new situations point up the need to better train the officers who have to deal with them, like they didn’t already have enough to be astute about. In the state of Wisconsin, the minimum education requirement for a police officer is only a high school degree, although individual jurisdictions can require them to continue further with their education. But don’t have to get a degree in molecular chemistry.

(To preview two more of this blog’s stories, check out the back pages of the current issue of the Hudson Star-Observer.)

So many deaths, in so little time, like a rock song that’s just a bit over two minutes. “Breaking the law,” coming in at 2:12, almost seems appropriate. (Are some just rugged or full-fledged rouges?)
A most recent one hit home locally, at Ziggy’s Hudson. The singer, Tim Sigler, a longtime country man front and center, and cowpoke poking hard on the guitar, also sang and strummed with poignancy and power, then gave a shoutout at the song’s end to the recently deceased Toby Keith, as he’d penned it in a like-minded way. Sorry to say, can Keith Richards, also on guitar, be far behind?!?

— With a few more newer people coming to many family holiday gatherings, I was a bit more eager about their (possibly changing up) warerobe choices — as in a kind of reversal? — than being stuck in a corner and thus trapped by an odd uncle with bad dad jokes, and OK that could be me. What I didn’t expect … Matron vs. possibly grand-matron vs. the brood, now young adults.
In my mind’s eye, I have long pictured a bright new Easter dress with great big colored polka-dots, worn by one of my model friends. But my niece, the night before, was noting the possible coming rain and weighing whether to be especially stylish, or more warm and safe and dry.
Not long before being on my way there, I saw medium-length from any nearby club, a mom and teenage daughter wearing all black, up and down, both in their dresses and clunky heals. Can you do that right before Easter? Would some fashion freaks take you to task for that ensemble, (or praise it)? I am left with this little fact, or opinion, that its truly hard to pull this off. Like white after Labor Day, like all this should matter, although one of the colors makes you super sweat if prompted by heat.
But then what was seen at Christmas and Easter: Some, and not always predictably, were dressed as traditionally fit for the upcoming Mother’s Day, others more bold in say the height of hem, as per New Year’s Eve.
That’s what was noted about others even at church, high rising at sunrise service, along with shoes that were stable and a staple, but still stunning. Simply put, skin was often put on display from just above the ankle — at times and also shown as brown mini-boots — to mid-thigh. Many more skinny and strappy shoes also were seen. And sometimes comfort and being demure and traditonal was in vogue, and the slipper-like shoes still fluffy and long pants thick, with the end result becoming degrees of, being noticeable, or blending in. Do you choose a buckle, or big bow (most of the time), or small or none at all? And how many layers of your clothing will you select? Most of them I spied, if there’s a trend here, showed long, unbroken stretches of similar one-toned fabric, which could be an earth tone, not always colorful or even pastel, like colored eggs are.
I just noticed that I have not said a thing about a blouse style. And I saw few hats, virtually no veils and no gloves.
But in summary, with people I was around, many wore what wasn’t what you’d think. At times the typically two this way and two that was flipped, how far was individually, from their normally featured, brave vs. more bland. —

The tabloids are raking on the alleged soon-to-be-demise of Bruce Willis. Again, not to rake, but a friend who used to pour coffee at a California shop he frequented in his Die Hard days, said that unlike most, he was a hey, look-at-me snob when not natilly attired. (If you visit that caffeine dispenser, maybe better site Serge instead, more of a friend.) Also we as such reference the long-ailing Phil Collins, who was in earlier and healthier days, known to have been, non-invited apparently, the jump-in drummer in an old Stairway To Heaven combo live-lineup, maybe for a last-Bruce-Willis-movie soundtrack? A driver friend says he is not up in the air about it, but has as the only rockin’ out song he can tolerate and indeed love, In The Air Tonight. Collins has said live he didn’t like to be pigeonholed by that tune — which always resonated with me when the big and booming bass drums finally came in — but don’t tell your limo purveyor that.
Then we go back to the turn of the year, and the death of one of the Smothers Bros. The mainstay behind the drug store counter, who has a somewhat retired brother himself, who is another Bruce by name, has had his own spin: Hey he’s not here anymore, but do I want to “smother” him? Hmm. Central is that one brother, more than the other, is as irreverant as you can get with his humor. I was going to ask him about the alleged evil act, with said brother, the last time I was in the drugstore — for my favorite soda, cherry red, with Mr. Jimmy, and wait that was across the river — but hey, I was told the Hudson Bruce was in the store yesterday. And will be tomorrow also, so rose from the dead?
On such themes, a new friend issues frequent citations for his killer band Amigo the Devil, with song after song of lyrics that are thusly as deliciously irreverant, on touchy topics, though a group small in number with its songwriters. God may not get you for (listening to) that, but Satan will. And speed your death (theme of this post) and take you to hell, their ultimate stage. And with an area concert acoming, we’ll both be there. Bluegrass-type stuff with extreme edge.
When I interviewed a very bright high school student up for honors, she also made a favorable reference, to the irreverent but acclaimed band the Dead Kennedys. But as a writer, censor yourself on that one, she requested. The elders might not get the rub.
George from Seinfeld is not dead, as one of my fave bartenders Chad noted when seeing my wallet burgeoning with old receipts, much more than money. Want to buy beer in a 30 pack? It looks like you have enough receipts for that many single sales?
Also, back to real death, O.J. has ran out of juice. Right after my mom saw a classic bumper sticker about him and his follow, chiming in with words that number two dozen. That’s more than half of those seen in that crazily slow Bronco chase at slow speed. A friend from Trinidad said that her World Cup soccer that was pre-empted would be far more interesting. But for quality entertainment, see his humorous bits in the Naked Gun movies. But, was he merely a foil for Leslie Nielsen or a feature in himself.
But to an earlier death I missed, (was it because of a deep fake?), deep as the waters that still house the Edmond Fitzgerald, a song that was a wreck that I’d long loved for its rich tones and touching but quaint folkish lyrics. This tale of many a dead seaman, laid to rest when Lightfoot died about a year ago, was especially popular with me because this disaster occurred basically in my backyard, the rough lakes above the Upper Peninsula, which was not firm enough as a land appendage to save. I used to sing along to the car radio, in a big old beater with astro-turf for seats, both front and back, but not in the shower, as this is like folk and not loud enough to be heard over running water. Lightfoot was a native Canadian, which maybe explained why he was nominated, merely, for five Grammies, but actually won 17 Juno awards, those given in the next country up. What, something other than heavy metal gets snubbed? This could be the story of Jethro Tull, falling in reverse. But sorry to end this tome on tunes, not afoot on a Lighter note.

As it turned out in our end of the planet, and over such the moon is just the sun at night, the solar eclipse during midday here was eclipsed by something else in the sky — and the evening’s bands also may have been thus eclipsed — with it coming and going and more one level than the other: Cloud cover(s). Nothing to sing about.
It was even more thick, than a brick, than usual, with a few rather brief interludes in-between where the sun started poking its rays through and then withdrew, and even then it was gray beyond partly cloudy and only shown in small and late-seen horizontal layers. The sun was not as one, only in spots, and is it a coincidence that pollen counts were through-the-roof high. But wait, that was a couple of days later, but maybe the “seeds” of the sun’s love were being sown, as soon as it reappeared.

— Spring tornados make a need for sirens, but to further the point, eclipses? Both could be seen as a warning …
There to keep us at bay, were today not one but two such sirens (they were loud but not the sultry kind) slated to go off, mere hours apart. What is this the day of the WWII air raids? At least, for now, there were not big bombers obscuring the view of the sun and moon and stars.
And take note, the day all this was blowing in the wind was an 11th. And as a weather-caster said, how loud the siren is depends on how far your home is from said siren. OK, I think we could have figured that out. But if you are too far away, you won’t hear it if you are inside. So just how much use are they? Or just stay outside most of the time. Grill not sit at the table with your family, as there’s the added benefit that you won’t be that close to them.
Say, within earshot? —

This type of eclipse only comes every few decades. So can’t the weather gods cut us some slack and take their clouds elsewhere for a day? In this April of spring, one that has likely seen more rain than any other annum in that time period.
Anyway, coverage of the sun, as we saw it here, was supposed to start at noon and go to either 3 or 4 p.m. That depended on who you wanted to talk to, as they began sucking it up if only slowly, and gathering in a local apartment building that serves elderly and disabled, just before the lunch hour.
They were said to have 75 percent sun coverage on my west end of Wisconsin, fading away further with each passing mile, and view at a full 100 percent via the really coolest cable. But some people said with exclamation point, do you really wanna watch it on a screen, rather then a sky?
So there were a few residents, co-mingling close together, asking each other their questions rather than googling them, about when and would even the crescent disappear. One was especially persistent, in part because I didn’t hear her right, (I just got back from Miracle Ear and I am borderline), and thought she was saying “fun” not “sun.” But she, and others, did swear that they thought it did get a bit shadowy for a few minutes.
Some conversations, too, were as shadowy as living in a cave: You finally heard of it when? I told you on the phone, when you were bored and called around brunch-time, Happy Solar Eclipse! And you didn’t think there was more to my comment then earlier, discussing multiple times with you, those damned sun spots. What, you didn’t know? I joked that there’s been so much attention given to the event by media, social and traditional, that the sun couldn’t field any more requests for interviews, didn’t handle the stress and took a vacation and/or mental health day.
Turns out that the old, way back song was right, “drove to Nova Scotia for a total eclipse of the sun.” I hope that most of those throngs in that area had sunshine, just before the eclipse started, and not cloudy or stormy weather.

The life of Christ, and all in it from birth to death/tomb/resurrection and everything in-between, is a pinnacle event with its prevalent impact in our human history, whether you are Christian or other religion or spirituality, or not religious at all, and hey even atheists have a spiritual component to their beliefs. But it is not the end-all of human history. There were important times before.
I don’t want to rain on your parade just after Easter if you’re a Christian, like me, but most of you in essence take into belief that all of history started only about 2,000 years ago. Again, so much before then.

— Have a bar? Need a table on which to dance? Not centuries old, but classic. A question involving a bar table, mid-range in price that was for sale, not like a curb-couch — but I did see a green one, just the other day — is in the Where Did You See It department. —

This was blasted home in my mind by a piece of what most would consider junk mail. Taking me back to 3,000 years before the time of Christ. Across the continents to China, specified as being before communism. Their bastardization of it.
The group of artists across mixed disciplines and heavy on flowery classical dancing, Shen Yun, is not allowed to perform in their native China — from which they escaped oppression, as the communist party there banned such performance of rich culture and heritage and history, and an even overused word in spirituality, from its thousands of years of existance — a prohibition now many decades old. But the Chinese totalitarian regime has still tried to eradicate, frequently, the theater company by threatening and intimidating theaters, pressuring local governments and spreading massive misinformation in traditional media and online.
Some things never change, especially for spiritual warriors, even those who do it peacefully. And why would we be afraid of that? Ever heard of the marketplace of ideas …

— As even as far as Islam, its greatest prophet had one of his most enlightening experiences in where … Jerusalem. So we basically all have heard the call and the yearning for expressing such spiritualness. But only some are allowed to make the pilgrimage. —

But Shen Yun and what they represent are said to be supurb. Makes fights talked about in overseas flights over TicTok seem less vital. Even Michael Jackson could be held in awe of that one dancer featured in the flyer, flowing along with feathers and flared cloth and at times, at the same time, having her knee stretched upward so it is alongside her ear. Even needs to make war, by generals, not often prized in art, are described via the piece as featuring “explosive athleticism.”
There have also been Babylon and many other ancient cities, even in the Americas, to appreciate. Egyptian pyramids rank up with Mayans.
I will soon digress to a couple of conversations with an atheist friend, starting a couple of months ago, between Christmas and Easter.
My own spirituality is a mixed bag, with virtually every philosophy I have encountered being incorporated into what I call my mongrel theology, that starts with Christ.
Even The Beatles of John Lennon and Paul McCartney, famous for their study with foreign gurus, have invoked Christian stances in some ways. Its Instant Karma. The Beatles still bear with them a great bearing on modern thought.
Lennon, not Lenin, was astute enough to realize, and lament, the situation where they’d become more popular than Christ. And McCarthy helped come up with a song about his mother: Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Anyone who can be said to say that, when spending time at the foot of her son’s cross, makes me listen.
The atheist man, with our joint love of quality karaoke, heard me sing something I’ve referenced many times, the tune Two Minutes to Midnight, about the still very real possibility of nuclear war and its effects on children as being the worst, citing comparisons made way back in the Bible. Is that about the Passover, he asked immediately, the original one?
Not bad religious knowledge for an atheist. Even after dozens of times hearing the song, I had not fully made that connection. So I thought I’d run this past him, as far as his take on the meaning, Twist Of Cain. As in Abel’s Biblical brother, and an alleged break in the succession line and the unavailability of any men to sustain it. So guess who stepped in, it is argued, to save the day?
The other night I got a chance to ask him about this song, after forging through it. He said that, in the midst of his game of pool, he’d try to give as much of a listen as possible to the lyrics. Shortly after that, he went on to plan his shots carefully and nearly run the table. Afterward I quizzed him …
He’d heard much, but not all. So I gave a synopsis. Then he reminded me, “you know I’m an atheist.” I replied that this background is why I, again, approached him, for a comment.
It then came, and for me lived up to the billing: “The Bible is an interesting piece of history.”
It was time to sink that 8 ball. I didn’t get to ask him what relevence he thought this had to the nature of humans, as a former Black Sabbath frontman sang, evil or divine. Or both.
Something that frames much of this are the music reactions to Sympathy For The Devil by The Rolling Stones, and its cover versions by many artists, which delves into Satan’s hanging-around role in literally earthshaking historical events. I recently stumbled onto several interesting interpretations. A concensus is that people are typically to blame, so don’t use the devil as a scacegoat. The chief among these would have to be this set of lines, “I was around when Jesus Christ had his moment of doubt and pain. Made damn sure that Pilate washed his hands and sealed his fate.” After all, if Christ had survived the cross and had, hypothetically, furthered his mission and become a political king and taken down the Roman Empire, the world would have been torn apart as by maybe no other historical event. The varied even if only slightly vocal stylings given to this all-important passage, as compared the others in the song, would seem to speak volumes about its perceived weightiness. Much more on that in another post. But Mick Jagger can be seen in a prominent video getting on his hands and knees to strip off in a sultry way his shirt to show, what seems to be a tattoo of, of all people, Christ. And not the stereotypical cross you always see, but his head adorned with a crown of thorns … of the type Pilate placed on him.

How is today’s warlike oppression different? Modern technology has given dictators so much more where-with-all to conduct their “conflicts.”
And even in Islam, Mohammad came well before Christ, so listen up, when thinking about the war between Israel and Hamas. If its who got there first …
We, or at least the vast majority of us, are all-in after the same thing.
There is more to the ongoing wars as far as religion features, felt jointly. Concerning Islam, its greatest prophet had one of his most enlightening experiences in where … Jerusalem. So we basically all have heard the call. But only some are allowed to make the pilgrimage.
What if we/they, as the whole world is intertwining these days, did this, at least metamorphically: Build a wall — yes a wall but read below — at that beloved and fought over mosque/temple in Jerusalem, so you can each have your own worship style and experience, and specifics and requirements. But also build a door that can be opened, by all, for further enlightenment and understanding, and make the door a big one, and the wall by comparison rather small. Can you all see through this hopefully wide door, you’all?

With the recent passage of a “public safety” referendum in our St. Croix County, with just over 54 percent voting “yes,” I was pleased to see that among the nine new positions created there were two “mental health co-respondents.”
That’s a good start. As is, to a maybe lesser degree as you will see, having two corrections deputies. And a recently elected district attorney who ran, in part, on a platform of keeping the mental health of all county citizens, and those whom they come into contact with, in mind.
Ours is a growing county with a newer and diverse, (and often rowdy or worse), influx of people, especially late-night, from surrounding areas, to deal with. But we also have other concerns with personnel position issues.

— Forteen precincts, so little time. As the polls would close in just minutes as 8 p.m. neared on April 2, and already tables were being torn down and chairs hauled off at this town site, to prep in advance of a quick-paced count of hundreds and hundreds of paper ballots.
There were more than two dozen voting booths, open at the back but facing a wall and having big wooden slats on the sides for voter privacy, about two booths for every precinct along all of the main side wall in this, the still growing township of Hudson, and more than a dozen other compartments set in a row ahead of them, of similar size, the first to be dismantled starting at 10 minutes prior to the hour.
About a dozen election officials were glancing quickly — some a bit faster than others — at the one-sheet paper ballots, with the race of the most concern being president, setting them in one of two stacks adjacent to each other.
A bin of very scant use was labeled as bad ballots, and one other that was not used and ushered away, was termed “dog licenses.” Most of the tallying was done in a bit over a halfhour.
I had been signed in, and ID verified, as an election observer and given chair No. 4, even though I was the only one who showed up in this capacity, and that hint at apathy is a little appalling. My employer for the night, the Associated Press, had me going to this second site in the county first, because of the gravity of the election. The main site weighed in at 56 precincts.
From my scant observance, it seemed likely the a ballot or two could on rare occasian be mis-filed, before the ultimate cavassing, but I highly doubt these would be anywhere near as high in number as Trump is often alleging. —

But back to the main piece, and first the backstory: A few years back, when suffering through time with a violent and abusive and mentally ill and deadbeat renter who was an in-law, and the various fallout that went with that experience, (such things are always a two-way street, although in this one the lanes were quite clearly defined), I got to see briefly these inner workings at the jail. I could say much more, but for now will stay on-topic.
(And there were some positive moments or more than just moments, from the occasional compassionate or helpful or even fun deputy, to that judge who took some extra time out of a busy court calendar to talk to a group of observing students, for again, more than a moment or two. But that should be expected, not extraordinary.)
The most glaring need I saw was for a 24/7 nurse. As it is, or was, if you are ushered into the jail on a Friday night, despite their repeated protestations to the contrary, you will almost certainly be without any of your medication, even if prescribed, until Monday morning, and in practice that might mean closer to noon.
The nurse has to approve all dispensing of medication, when she comes in after the weekend, or weekday evening. What do they do with someone who has a serious need for insulin, for example? If nothing else, the prospect of liability concerns should scare the lawyer out of you. And people have died in the care of the county jail.
I myself was repeatedly denied meds for my Tourette Syndrome, which can have very serious consequences.
Jail staff may have concluded that my massive symptoms, which were plainly shown, were from some other illegal factor and not a lack of prescriptions, but they are not doctors and aren’t qualified to make this call.
As it was, a mental health nurse, even if the medical matter is not mentally oriented, often brought in to make assessments of alleged offender wellbeing, actually said to me: Tourette’s, that’s just a bunch of muscle jerks and bad words, right.
Many first year medical students know its much broader then that. She did not and would not be corrected. I told her there are five steps that will now play out with me, with the last being cardiac arrest. As it was, I was rushed to the hospital, but only upon my release from custody, and the ER doctor made the diagnosis of “significant cardiac incident of unknown origin.” But I know. And knew.
During my time there, I saw many people with tics, some severe. I saw two people who were relatively new arrivals quickly from stress develop severe coprolalia, the involuntary utterance of obscenities that effects an estimated 40 percent of Touretter’s — and you could imagine how well that played with deputies. In a bizarre twist, I shouted instructions over a loudspeaker from my cell to deputies on how to give the effected people meds. One deputy even thanked me for my service. The national Tourette Syndrome Association says, regretably, that many of its tens of thousands of members end up in squabbles with often ill-informed officers.
Obvious, if just for liability concerns, the jail also could use a this time, part-time consultant on neurological issues and also its sometimes flagrant violations — I have more I could tell — of (quite minor) sexual harrasment and (major) the Americans With Disalities Act. What, you can’t hold onto a phone because you are ticking so badly and can’t maintain “control” of it. No one phone call for you. What a liberal judge would do with such cases!
And frankly, from what I saw at the jail, deputies weren’t that terribly busy. (So they could just use a bit of added training, or cross-training. More on that in a future post.)
But it doesn’t stop there. Nor do I. Ever see at the parking lot of the local cop shop, a bunch of those many new squad cars just … sitting there. Always, you can see at least one, usually more, while at least at some times as an explanation, the officers are inside with other duties. Obviously, scheduling the use of those cars to keep them all in actual service more frequently would be a VERY big, though apparently needed job. A part-time scheduling person might even save taxpayer money. (It should be said that now with new deputies, at least for that department, there may be more feet on the floor to patrol with them.) And one driver who acts as a partial observer points out that there is a need to have some of these squads sitting in the lot as a backup, if only at times when other units are being serviced for repairs. So need newer news that aren’t in the shop much?
And we’ve all seen those squads who just didn’t seem that busy, even when there is a big county to cover. Case in point, one seen driving through Second Street in Hudson, then diverting slowly east for a block, then go around in little rush the whole block, and minutes later back north again on the main drag. Who knows, maybe needed to be on the phone about … something? There will be such things in law enforcement.
I will back off from an earlier position I have taken, where I’ve advocated that agencies stick to their juristictions and not “roam.” This could be especially true with the State Patrol, and maybe they should stick to Interstate 94, known to be a large drug corridor, not drift through a few close-by neighborhoods and than back to the freeway. In particular, I in an earlier year saw one drive past a few people leaving the then-Pudge’s Bar and walking slowly across the street to their car. The squad drove a couple of blocks down and then back again, and questioned the bunch, without incident. And again, going out of its way to follow, turn by turn through town, a car with hippie-like decals on its sides. I don’t know, maybe that was reason enough to suspect something.
Anyway, with so many greater patrolling needs, maybe its now time for such agencies to help each other out as needed, not make sure they stick to a spot. But if there is such mutual aid, should it be officially run past oversight groups like the Hudson City Council?
And to the officer who I saw come to a full stop on Second Street, then say to a small group of young men, apparently going to their car in the middle of a big block, “don’t you jaywalk in our town …” Buddy, even though there has been some even violent behavior to combat, do you really have to be that confrontational? Don’t be like their neighboring Minneapolis. Not exactly spreading good will.
So then, a reason to write columns like this.