We are able to sans-limo pull into the rally for Kamala Harris in our tiny auto, like riding the Emu in the commercial, with relative ease, getting there through back country roads almost three hours in advance, and getting through the gate was also easy, unlike buying tickets for March Madness basketball events months later. Like odd-ball, but really bring the funk and the quirk concerts, one of my other go-to guys, and also my new mega-mosh-pit acquaintance, (I have too many, not to mention the chicks), with hard to get tickets to sometimes off venues. My new, go-to guy at the rehab center, could rifle off all those in the Final Four like nursing home food fodder, (more on that later). He dropped the con with U-Conn, as they got mish-mashed by six, in what amounts to three baskets or two three-pointers, to Michigan.
Anyway, at the earlier Eau Claire Kamala rally, (Conn wasn’t quite able to do so), we were directed to slot ourselves into a small space between two full lines of vehicles about thirty yards apart, with the help of a young guy wearing an old MTV T-shirt from back in the ’80s. Clinton or Carter as a key choice, I asked him, to a chuckle. That other Sanders, not like Dione, had not surfaced yet. And we wonder about Warwick.
But there was the serious matter of that just a day or two earlier, Harris had tabbed as her running mate Gov. Tim Walz of neighboring Minnesota, making Eau Claire as a rally choice an easy one, but no Border Battle here, an hour’s journey after crossing the St. Croix River. And this was well before any news of child care fraud broke. Or cryptic but maybe not credible Door Dashish photog freelancer footage. Could it be ingrained while grainy using lowest quality Danish?
My wife had said, when Biden faltered, that perhaps the roles should be switched and Harris be the next president, with Biden as her VP. She wrote to her with the suggestion, much as she had done to State Senator Tammy Baldwin with the tip — which helped her successful push for re-election — that over near Hudson, there are only Twin Cities TV and radio stations, so put your ads there.
The next day, an invitation to this rally followed, so lacking sporting event tickets, away we went on this road trip to Eau Claire.
— The British Invasion was back — nothing to do with the prime minister getting re-elected — but this time it did involve Bobbies to police the rally. That primo Euro auto show hit Walnut Street and beyond and filled it and the overflow as such, extended until the next night, a Sunday. That’s when My Favourite Bouncer at Dick’s Bar and Grill said, “this was a day. A day. I’m glad it’s over.” Earlier, the cops had to show, been all was resolved in fine and stout and proper British manner without incident. (My accent of that type was called the worst ever, right before closing, although I joked that at one time I had been one of the Bobbies, like anyone would want that one these days.) At that time, going out, the cars were said to have been up and down, on the opposite side of the street then usual, of course. And then there was talk of going right down the middle … —
— This weekend we enter into sparsely charted earlier rally territory, again, with the bands we pump, and the last time I said that, for Bigly and such at Booster Days, they turned out to actually be pretty solid although mainly straightforward and nothing fancy. But this weekend at a new and with expanded activities Pepper Fest in North Hudson, the newer blood is on Friday night with Ember (the name to me sounds a bit like, and has the German flavor of, Rammstein.) Then at the Tarnation Tavern in River Falls, on that same Friday night it’s a Flannel Brothers concert (it is my birthday weekend and believe me, I go back further than grunge which is what the name evokes) and on Saturday night Ghosts of the Mississippi (I hope at my advanced age I don’t become a ghost before the act hits the stage.) —
We got to our seats early, also, as musical guest Bon Iver’s crew was setting up right in front of us, and their sound checks were checking in. This venue was by rally attendees said to be the site of the killer concert that is Country Fest, with a big “district” building in back, and all the usual extra big lighting and sound booth buildings about a great big Walz football field’s length to the back. There must have been a vacancy on this day, with no band other than Bon Iver slated for the venue. As it was, the Ides of Iver were available on a day’s notice, and they apparently had a place to go to that evening, as the roadies were tearing down even before there would have been a main encore. During set-up, there was a woman doing her thing in killer shades and the proverbial headphones popular back in the day when Bon Iver first made their mark.
There was a gap in time before the heavy hitter speakers came on for the next past of the rally, but the bass kept thumping. The lightweight ones had been on before the mini-concert, several of them. There had also been a miniwave, with people standing and raising arms in the air, but those arms came down once there was a gap in the bleachers and the wave hit its metaphorical shore.
The many Secret Service, this day’s Men In Black, were walking about in their sunglasses in the bright sunshine, but some of them wore — gasp! — ties that were red in color. Blue shirts though, more fitting.
An eagle flew overhead, no turkeys or turkey vultures, drawing gasps and cheers from the crowd. Soon also flew over the first of many helicopters — was it Kamala? The loudspeaker bore the message, twice, “The party (or program) will continue shortly.” The heat was coming on and crews were out and about, especially up front, handing out bottled water aplenty — they must have had a special volume deal with Sam’s Club — and even some energy drinks so to stick with the speeches. There were a handful of people who passed out in the crowd, after hours, and needed medical treatment, and Walz stopped his speech in respect as they attended to one of them. No sweat. Think the Republicans would do that?
Sign language soon got going, with two different women making the signals. The next, totality texting said to Text To Win 30330, which is threes rather than the twos of 2024. There was 24007, to Tammy Baldwin. But all of us were told to get on our social media and send messages as they spoke to make amends for the political misdeeds of many, but wouldn’t you know it, there was scant little reception in our broad area. Such was shouted by a couple of people in back of me. “But we all know why we’re here,” a speaker said, reinforced by others.
Walz soon came on, at mic stand, and said it must have been good to have a speaker who could actually pronounce the name Eau Claire, unlike those monosyllable if they can manage even that speaking Republicans. He noted that some of his family members are Badgers and it is good that despite all the teasing back and forth they are Gophers can get along, unlike the hatred of their foes. “That’s right,” reinforced an attendee. Walz, as a head coach, won a state high school football title, over in his state in an effort to emulate The Packers, or the teams from his Nebraska roots. But there would be no Minnesota Rouser on this day. Also, this was not a time to relive the past, but to learn from it.
Harris was next up, espousing similar themes in a 20 minute-talk.
A state secretary of state, before Walz, said that the hour had been struck for Midwestern Nice to transfer to Midwestern Vice.But there were a few cuss words tossed in here and there by the speakers, as these dire times call for gravity. “Hell Yeah,” like the band, our day is here. A sample of background tunes that were played included The Immigrant Song, by Led Zeppelin.
The initial speaker, a dark-skinned person from the area, was a transgender father of “two amazing brown girls” who showed that diversity can exist here in the midst of, with heart, the often conservative farm country. And his two girls had been in need of special assistance in their classwork, something Republicans want to cut as far as budget, and to top it off, two of his family members as well were teachers, like Walz.
Rousing it up was a woman in a pink cat lady hat and a shirt that played on the theme, saying Democratic catwomen are the life of the party. Also themed, going back to its origins of four years ago with her, was the idea that the Republicans “can’t grab my pussy.” On the way out from the rally, three women were praising the cops for not so much their service but their looks. They were hot on a hot day, pulling loads of cased gear out of two vehicle trunks. I felt I just had to ask, but did not, are you referring to the Secret Service guy or the Eau Claire policeman? And could they get the steel fence opened to let people out to walk through an open field, which appeared to be an aim? Hey, I joked, are they looking for a bolt cutter
Back at the car, next to its parked place, two members of a couple climbed aboard their bicycles. They told passerby after passerby that they lived only a short distance away, but after a car ride wasn’t getting them much closer, they went back home and got their bikes. “At least you don’t have unicycles,” I told them, and gained a laugh in these trying times.
He is from Princeton, on the other end of the Twin Cities, and was on the prowl all the way over in Hudson to view and talk up March Madness while sitting at the bar. She was with friends from the land of blackish Iowa pom poms, on a night later seen being shaken here while tableside as they celebrated being in the ESPN top 1,000 tourney bracket. A third person jumped into the conversation and he explained that even though this meant that despite their team’s obscure status in the brackets, they had picked them among all the correct winners thus far into tourney play. Having ventured over to the bar herself, she was wearing trademark red with college lettering on the front of her shirt. I asked if this was one, worn for March Madness, and two, if she was from out of town. Why yes, of course. And was the red supposed to include her jeans and some ruby red slippers? Well no, she hadn’t gotten that far in her shopping to go out for the evening. I told her that in these parts, everyone from both states on the river rakes on Iowans, and she obviously knew of this and had gotten used to it, so was not offended by my joke or two.
Here in Hudson, they all can enjoy Wisconsin-ish waffle fries tinging with sour cream and a Miller Lite, just for starters, three state foods in a four-square meal for basketball once the Final Four is reached. One more person conversed, here from The Cities to take in the Timberwolves game. Here to watch the Woofies? Yes, she two had heard the joke. But she was surprised to hear that one of their assistant coaches had lived right here on the north end of town, and had become friends with me when coming here just for the job that meant he spent a lot of time well into the night watching film with then-coach Flip Saunders.
Then, not in a flip but a flop, as in such an eared rabbit. At the storied — as I told it — door across the hall from an Irish friend was also decked out in green, and the wall space next to it as well, just a day after St. Patrick’s, the theme was replaced in both places with posh, pious and patterned Easter designs. And on Easter Monday hopped to it with a green and spring motif, but across and a few feet over from my other doorway, a rabbit remained.