They were the men that woulda, shoulda, coulda been king, in their own way, limited but still boundless.

When is a touchdown more than just another six-point into seven score?
When it propels a fullback named Franco into the annals of football history. He grabbed at knee-height a wayward fourth-down throw after a ricochet of far more than one yard-marker’s length, the longest we have seen, then snaked his way into the end zone to win an early Super Bowl for the Pittsburg Steelers. But although he beat the football odds hands down, he could not cheat death, as was seen earlier this year.
And the name Franco just keeps on popping up since then. (More of that below, in the next sentence and beyond).
It happened that the following day after his death, I saw a video of a singer, not sure if its rap or salsa, who is a third piece of the lookalike puzzle. And three more are listed below the pullout that follows.

— So now we’ll also list this. The Wild Badger in New Richmond is again adding to its already well-stocked lineup of deejays, with the mainstays being Kris Holiday and DJ Kurt. But now in one of his relatively new engagements at The Badger, DJ Winn is onboard upfront on Saturday. And after seven days and nights follow, its the band Theory, which despite the theme of this overall post does not necessarily invoke the rockers Theory Of A Dead Man.

Two blocks north, on Thursday at the Friday Memorial Library, its the first of the summer’s Let’s Get Trivical, with the questions asked being much more specific than usual and featuring a summer recreation vibe with a “beach” theme. On July 20 the topic will be “hydration.” And there regularly are many of the tools for yard games available for checkout. So go for the trivia and stay for the Jarts and more. —

 
It could be said that the man behind the “Immaculate Reception” is larger than life. The same has been said of a man who would, suddenly, foretell to the world and then go out there and sell the concept, to the benefit of many people, as he hawked and helped so many with his uncanny abilities as yes, a psychic. Though not models, they share a similar distinct look that demands attention, and begs for ongoing requests, formal and informal and journalistic, for re-visitation. Just like their defining and sometimes seeming supernatural ability. And they pass muster, even if they are based on mostly a single “pass.”
Franco H. was black and Joe M. dark-skinned Greek, with also the same hairstyle in an uncanny number of fronts, build and beard. Franco H lived for quite a few years longer, chalk it up to an athlete’s training regime. They have the same length of legacy, especially among those who loved them. Even if only a lowkey sports fan, you had to watch that infamous catch and even longer run every once in a while. Turn on again, and tune the replay back in.
(And Joe M has other lookalikes, from diverse walks of life. A guy in a Goodfellas-type hospital bed get-shot scenario. The man in a commercial wrapped in only a towel, running down the street to chase down a delivery truck, and I think it was of a fave pizza. I saw this on TV again yesterday, and was reminded of Joe M, as in his wide girth, making his presence even more felt. And even the expressive with hands — like Franco’s catch — lead singer in a band called Metaklapa, a choir of five Croatian men applying their traditional style of a-cappella folk music to heavy metal cover songs.)
As I prepared this post over time, I kept on stumbling across the name Franco in various artistic endeavors, from movies to music. Putting a perpetually poignant face on my post.
But back to that infamous TD, which took far less then a TO to play out, but still long for a pass play. Even after what already seemed a miracle, there was that nagging doubt of whether he would actually get to the goal-line. Or get tripped up at the one-yard-line as time expired. Similar questioning of the eventual outcome for Joe M although he never really had a fear — but became so immersed in other peoples’ lives that he expressed a yearning to simply go meet his maker — it was a matter of when not if. The definitively defining day in the sun, or son, for him that set him well upon his course, and riding on his horse, was more like 19 minutes of the total 20 he used, in their exactness of meaning, as he defined for me my life, and so uncannily and accurately what was to come. Another turn of 180. Both set and/or viewed at a sports bar, with some circumstances we can all relate to, but still in other ways completely their own thing.
Simply put, he read the handwriting on the wall and palm after being pulled away from a game of pool, of a situation that had not been seen before, in that initial conversation of less than a half-hour, then predicted with stunning ability what would happen in that realm, for me and many others, for many years afterward. Joe M was a longtime psychic who said he’d never seen anything like my circumstances. He got wrapped up in this revelation and it was his bittersweet joy and his demise. He did not see 50, dying of what was officially termed a heart attack, but brought about by terrible stress, essentially giving his live for his newfound cause.
I have been vague, but this is The Never-Ending Story with many dozens of chapters to cover, so for another post. Suffice it to say, he stumbled into the much-needed helping along of a very tight relationship that had been sabotaged, and the emotional pain trickled down into a broad network of like-minded people that was represented in what looks like an old-school computer flow chart, and worked to eventually right the ship through a very long and arduous process that sucked him in, via a scenario that could change the conversation involving some of the basic tenets of psychology.
I was one of those he helped “save.” We assume its been — and coming up again through death and eulogy — the same necessary though vicarious result for his lookalike. Although not someone I would spend my every minute with, let it now be known Joe M, you are my Blood Brother.

Joe W thus says a true goodbye to Joe M. Rest In Psychic-ness, as best you can.

Four different and diverse ways/deals/offers/specials. Some seasonal, as we have spring/summer. Some shandies, or quite shady as from Sam Adams.
The 4 North salon, as it says on its signs, will get you as tan-ready — multiple times already — as my new, fresh-off-college, friend/twice-a-week bartender at The Agave, only nights, and doing service as a day server once a week, giving her a window of time for tanning. To mash some of the 4 North messages together and paraphrase: “Let” us spring forth and get your hair set for summer with a new do, since you needed a break after we did you up for spring break. Lest you stay too light in skin tone. To avoid this, just leave it all on the floor, veer left and go in the door. But not for lettuce. That would be up on The Hill.
When Winter turns to summer and its shandies, seasonal varieties need to be discounted, as known by this average Joe, whose last name is Winter. Leading the way is the dark Winter-named variety by Sam Adams. (Do Gomez and Morticia know about this? Wednesday is not of age, until her Thursday birthday. If it makes her 21, that will be the ultimate rager.) So hey, when I found that for a short time, you and/or I can get it in the sign-on-it-says shopping cart up-front at The Spirit Seller, for only $5.99. Dangerous bit of knowledge.
The Kwik Trip last chance Friday delivery is/was at 50 cents, and in this new summer season you could get a gallon of ice cream for under five bucks — minus said fee. Right Said Fred on a good Friday. He adds on his social media site that what goes round (like his small tush) comes around, so there will soon be a revisiting of this special, as well as a new concert tour, (just embellishing very broadly). This ice cold treat was billed as a hot deal to melt for. So much so, for need of further explanation, that the minimum was listed at $5, followed by a plus sign, followed by an asterisk, followed by a period.
Also shown on a sign. “Waiting for a sign? This sign might be that sign.” Come on in and take advantage of what the specials on their sign say — they being Bennett’s. You don’t even have to sign up. This effort was earlier announced with chalk on the sidewalk; much like had been done years earlier when this building housed something far different, the Dibbo’s rock club.

Here are two WWI-tuned tearjerkers for you too, from YouTube, that aren’t simply anti-war rants, and come from metalheads when they tone down the guitar and ramp up the emotion along the lines of what soldiers are thinking while their collective lives are on the line. And do a tribute to those who faced the unfaceable.
“Paschendale” by Iron Maiden is lyrically superb, verse after verse. They get at the guts of horrible trench warfare and spill it out in front of you. And after the ’80s, their war themes became lyrics fodder for so many other bands.
Then of course there’s “1916,” and the brand new Sabaton version (and they have so many vital historical lessons like this one that focus on the little known) is impossible to view without being touched, but I like better the far-earlier one of the late Lemmy of Motorhead, who normally is a rather raspy screamer, engagingly a bit hoarse, but still has soul. This track is just beautiful, even the strains of Lemmy’s toned-down vocals.
At first I thought that this song, like some war epics, was too romanticed with the soft lilt in their otherwise strong voices, as war is just plain ugly. But it gets into the psychology of the soldier’s mind, and what they need and invariably don’t get, then tells the tale of the horrors of war in a way that’s not really graphic, but in its simplicity still has powerful lines. And Iron Maiden’s many anti-war anthems are more palatable because of their theatric and operatic, high-energy nature, making them seem almost like advocacy. But people still say such songs just make them inexplicably joyful.
These are, first and foremost, a call to not only pay tribute to the fallen warriors, and the loved ones left behind, but make sure their stories will forever be told. And coax others, listeners and artists, to do the same. Never forget.
Not since Metallica’s masterpiece video, One, has there been such an overwhelmingly strong case made for a cause and belief (euthanasia). One that will turn you into a blubbering mess of tears. And you might not last a minute.
I recognize that chiseled-chin, slightly turned-up look. I’ve seen it when saying goodbye to friends. Trying to be stoic only moments before completely falling apart. So here is an exercise: Look at 1916 all the way through, to see if you can identify the musical reactor in a transition period, and squirming and fidgeting with things like fingers touching face and even forehead — at the moments when the singer delivers an especially poignant line.
As I wrote earlier, every generation has its own strengths, and moreso challenges, some more trying then others. But here’s been nothing like this, and its ilk.
Adding to it are the motions of the singer with his arms, and the occasional fist, closed or extended, that seem to be just pleading for a better way, honoring the dead as demonstrated by leading a filmed march through a street of one of the England towns that literally lost all its men of service age in just a day or two.
Even bad-ass metal guys, like reactor David Heretic, can have an emotional meltdown.
How’d it play out?
At the second word of the second line into the song, Heretic is tearing up already.
A few minutes later, eyes at length not dry, he noted there’s 3:41 still left, even if mostly credits. But it is cool to give length credit to those other than creditors.
This reaction became a well-chosen rant, among the three types of analysis he cites during intros.
As a fitting counterpoint, the cello as soft lead is maxed out, again, in a still minimum way.
In the depths of the evening, I looked at more reactions to 1916. The reactor was so touched that she wasn’t just misty-eyed, she was sobbing. And even a GERMAN couple was left speechless, and in the final minutes of analysis had a meltdown. I’d never seen a European with eyes so bloodshot from tears. The same for a “Viking,” even though he comes from a culture that formerly practiced cruel war and raiding methods.
I’m sorry, said some of these reactors, especially the Germans, when their eyes grew moist. Sorry for what? Being human?
It’s powerful with a cathartic subpoint that gets you revved up, but at the same time it leave you disgusted and angry and even a bit sick to your gut, not the norm of such songs which usually are oddly inspirational.
A reactor’s takeaway on why to view: Do it for me. And do it for you.
Just looked at the “1916” video and historical commentary again, multiple times. Interesting just how spot-on it is as far as historical fact. Also, although a tribute to fallen soldiers, it is tinged with sarcasm. And it turns out that part of the song is a criticism of enforced conscription — “we added two years to our ages.” When those 16-year-olds did that so they could sign-up, rules were bent and they were accepted. Regarding their race to take up arms, even though not yet men, their piss and vinegar just took them in, but not like a mother’s arms.
Until you look at history, you more fully understand the line, “we were food for the gun.” To start the battle, 10,000 untrained volunteer soldiers were marched for strategic reasons — I hate that — into a barrage of machine gun bullets. “Plunging on into certain death,” to again bring in Maiden lyrics and Up the Irons.
Noteworthy, too, is that in the cover art for Motorhead’s version, there are almost a dozen flags, the biggest a British, but also even Chinese and Russian. Also noteworthy is the absence of a U.S. flag, only one for Lemmy’s Motorhead.
Shown were a slowly marching Muslim, laid-flat black man with scarred and scared face looking skyward, helmeted Roman soldier/Centurian, four men on horses, young women bucking the trend with very short hair, and Orientals, but not a ninja. There also were shown twice, when it comes to those Japanese, and even a British fighter pilot who is a woman and looking dapper in her uniform to get a Madonna vibe as she emerges from a bombed out building. (Lemmy as such, has been accused of being a Nazi sympathizer, but in truth he just collects their attire and related items because he thinks that many military uniforms present a striking, how should I say this, professionalism. He is a complex man.) Air and ground elements brought together. And there’s a guitar guy decked out in, theme here, Revolutionary War garb.
At times a score of 11 is given by a reactor, maxing out beyond the top ten. When: Let Vin and Sori tell you: Only when the song is required listening for all human beings.
Over a million lives were lost, in total, in this battle and the 1916 video clip gives a breakdown of when and how fast. One startling figure was that more than 300,000 were killed in short order just to gain a few miles of turf. I think it was only the equivalent of five kilometers. One soldier died every 4.4 seconds.
I sent a message to a friend, about her father, and said while getting ahead of myself that he was killed in battle. But still, a set of war injuries sent him on a long and slow, downward spiral that led to death, even if not directly or immediately. Our takeaway: If he had fallen right away, she never would have been born.
What is a life worth? Apparently in this case, one-50,000th of a mile, Heretic said.
Or it might be asked, of all oppressors, what cost is a person’s soul worth?
No form of music has more power to transform than metal. Even if done in ballad form.

Looking down at the low-to-the-ground powertakeoff on a seemingly out-of-place tractor, parked just down the way from Ziggy’s music club, as I walked down the street. Could this be the Farm Aid concert all over again?
Trailing behind it was a trailer that could have housed a pony such as a Shetland but not a full horse, as not even this occurrence with its need that I will show you below has such horsepower. But it was adorned with logos of dozens of sponsors, but for what cause.
The potent plague that is Parkinson’s. As it is seen not necessarily from here to eternity, but from here to a far coast, as there are victims everywhere, more and moreso.
To summarize. The tractor was being taken on a trek from a start in the lower Midwest, to the upper Midwest, then all the way westward across several states.

— And what, there’s even more such need afoot? You know a benefit is for a worthy cause when it gets the Dweebs to play for a full four hours. Springsteen style length. Even more than the local tribute band for The Boss.
Larry Larson is battling stage 4 brain cancer that Mayo was not able to fix, although he’s been back and forth after an initial surgery, and there will be a fundraising event to help him live out his days as best he can, on May 25 at Big Guys BBQ Roadhouse, just up the road from here. As there will still be a long road for Larry and even moreso his family.
The longtime legendary show band that like many has only gotten better and rockier with time plays from 7-11 p.m. And if you think you are worthy to be an opening act — and hey I am not worthy so will not grace you with my presence, unfortunately, only bow down to others who are killer — there is karaoke from 5-7 p.m. And plenty of BBQ dishes, five by my count, during and after. Raffles too.
These days it seems to be a truism, does it not, that as times get tougher for just about everyone, more and more the financial brunt for families hit with a sudden need comes down to such benefits, and we’re not talking just a brunch. You can see the writing on the wall by looking at the changing pace on just about any bulletin board, at places like nightclubs and what have you. And we have come to need them all.

And so many of the backstories just tug all the way back at your heartstrings. And one seems to top the previous one, as more announcements are crammed into the limited room on the spongy, squared spaces. Larson, for example, recently retired and also then married the love of his life, Erin. And now they face this. Relatedly, news of the first benefit of doubtlessly many for slain deputy Kaitie Leising, she only 29, has just trickled past this desktop.

In all cases, about these losses that speak for themselves, enuf said. —

Bringing back in the tractor, it isn’t that big in size, but it packs a big punch. Medically. Emotionally. Physically. Actually, both of these things do.

This bright green tractor is no partially broken-down old Farmall H. It would have to trek on until Washington, D.C. or the state on the other end of the country? (Help out in a corn field along the way?)

Hey, the Parkinson’s it strives to battle can be a real pain. (Imagine if you are a farmer?) People are only now realizing just how painful.
So says Ozzy and so many other rock stars who now have it, at an advanced age. There must be some common theme in their genetics.
But someone has to drive those things like tractors cross-country. Like over-the-road truckers. (What other kind is there?) So pay them more than a historical farmer’s wage.
The hiring wars have come and gone and evolved, and the way they were fought changing as conditions changed, although how much may be a matter of degree. But right now, hirings are on again.
At Brick’s Pizza, they need a dishwasher. Since they have their completely own take on pizza pie, this is a position requiring special skill, (or would that be the chef and/or cook). Other places have the help wanted sign placed for a whole host of other job descriptions. Some of these ads are shown on legs and on placards, some quite small, out on the sidewalk, or taking up a meager part of a glass door. But they are big enough to list in full phrases all kinds of work that needs doing. Shown in type with 72 point letters?

And concerning nearby San Pedro Cafe, they are looking quite descriptively for “passionate” line cooks who make from scratch and who are looking to hone their culinary skills. Call or email or stop in.
These days you might carry out such applications via one of those annoying (unless you are looking for work) small square boxes with black and white squiggles, and even designing such boxes might get you six figures, I would think. I first noticed the newest big but small thing a few months ago on the side of a cab.
Or you could just go the old school way, with two words melded into one to display “arbysjobs,” complete with quirky consonant use mid-word. Reminds me of the “handle,” again an old school term, of one of my favorite music commentators, kirawasareactor. Can she get a handle on Handel? Or that former and now embattled politico hopeful in the Twin Cities, by the fitting name of Warsame.
And lastly, now that we are long gone with the hirings that creeped up near the $19 an hour range when there was a change in prez administrations, WalMart now has partially reverted, and for main and non-overnight shifts where they compensate you, I think, for not being able to take in live bands, to a mere rate of $15!
Here is another matter to wrestle with. Live wrestling back in Hudson, and not out at the old JR! Its downtown baby.
And for you techno phobes like me, this is in-person, not on pay per view. The guy at the counter confirmed that for me, and then glanced over and downward and nodded to the flyer of announcement, also seen all over town. I was angling my glance also, as to anecdote that mere PPV was indeed not on the card.
It was Thursday night in the Hop N Barrel parking lot, and the bout, or series of them, was on. Customers filled the expansive concrete and blacktopped floor and were evenly spaced out across it, including food trucks and the like. The ring itself, which I saw being erected earlier in the day as roadies were actually measuring with tape and such, the overall height of the ropes, was pushed back into a far corner — beyond the great big and high UHaul truck that had them housed and strung them.
So had one thought. There was not far to fall if you were thrown from north and east side, as there literally was brick wall there. On the west and south side, there was a farther fall and — again — a cement floor to smack.

What makes a song timeless? Give me some water, if I’m rocker Eddie Money, because I just shot a man on the Mexican border. Or might as well have.

If you’re Ozzy, that may be a shot in the dark.
There are refugees, (so many are children and we’ll walk you through that later), or could be called foreigners in some contexts, not only trying to cross over at Mexico, but Canada. And in all parts unknown surrounding the Ukraine. And all over Africa and its various enclave boundaries. And more. The context can even be framed by the old Statue of Liberty now crumbling with its stone-shown justice. Bring me — or at least have us tolerate — your tired, your hungry, your poor, your naked in need of clothing at least between photo shoots, your huddling masses waiting in desert areas for a possibly last cup or chalice of water and once getting past the more immediate need to be hydrated then resume their quest to be free, your most disenfranchised, your voting-rights robbed, your cell-phone-taken-back yet again as others come about by the parent company or corporation, etc. And the Title-shown need whether you call it 42, as today, or 142 or 242, is not going away.
What to make of it? Let’s go back 1,000 years, or make it 2,000 years. Or least when it thus was written and so should be done.
So OK, what did Jesus Christ have to say about — stereotypically — having over for dinner and maybe staying for breakfast the impoverished and reeking of dirt and more Mexican farmer with no teeth to eat with anyway? Be a good Christian family and live that scenario out.
Anyway, back to what Jesus said. (He was a man of complexity and you would not like him when he is righteously angry. And some things riled him more than others).
Leading the list was not to do to those little ones — of all ethnicities: And for he, or she, who would harm one of those children it would be better if a millstone were placed around their neck and they be cast into the sea. At least their boat got that far. And as has been written before on these pages, war always affects children worst. And the crux of this rant: Jesus was almost that irked when any of God’s people, especially the powerful and those with means it could be argued, hardened their heart and did not help out the foreigner in need, or being discriminated against.
OK, these days the situation with our and their borders — both sides of them — it has been wisely said by many different people the situation is messy and layered and complicated, and there are more than ten fingers to be pointed at possible culprits. To address such a situation it becomes all the more important to have words to live by, whether coming from the lips of Jesus, or Mohammad, or Buddah, or Ghandi, (OK maybe we’ll take a pass on Crowley). And not all such sages need to be religious figures, but I’ll take them over politicians. (There could be a referendum on paying more heed to the band of Baldwin brothers. But in my home state, Tammy Baldwin might have more merit, and common men and women. And from the mouths of babes).
Now my main thrust. Maybe we should Listen more to the Likes at Large of Ozzy Osbourne and Geezer Butler, and their Ironman hero-villain. There is an Easter egg here to be found in this ultimate messianic anthem, of a slain savior who rises from the dead then returns to earth to finish his work.
Biblical themes run through it, and one of them stands out as being maybe a tale of these times. I do believe that early in the song, there is a reference to the parable of the good Samaritan: “Is he live or dead, has he thoughts within his head. We’ll just pass him there, why should we even care.” This stanza seems to be linking the critically injured man in the ditch, to the lack of aid given to a messiah who is put to death. Two remaining important events in our history. OUR history, whether we be religious or not, downtrodden and downgraded Samaritan or high-falutin pharisee.
Underscoring as far as justice is a just-seen a Metallica in-concert video played out in Moscow in 1991. What were rank-and-file Russians subjected to around that time by their government, at the very least lacking freedom?
The song was Creeping Death, the deliverer, and we’ll let the first line tell the tale: “Slaves, Hebrews born to serve …” THEY were then the foreigners. There are so many parallels here, only starting with faulty pharisees and pharaohs. The crowd was getting riled up, more by each chorus, hundreds of thousands of them, some of them standing under U.S. flags, and the words were not even as aggressive and brutal as the guitar, in-your-face demanding justice (for Hebrews and Huns alike) and nothing less, screaming for vengeance. The chant grew much more bold by the syllable, “die, die, by my hand, die, die first-born man …”
As I watched this crazy scene just as if there, one thought kept creeping into my mind, as there was so much that could be gained by these ideals but ironically, there was one suddenly underclass that (also) was excluded from this parade … the lines of military police standing with hands at their sides and trying to stay stoic with their gaze. What about them? What if this mosh pit turned into a mob? These men, invariably very young, sometimes were caught in the middle of warlike politics, so was their service completely conscentual, or contentious conscription?
These policemen had to have been scared to death! What if the fans would all gather in their whipped frenzy and march on THEIR capitol. No dozen tanks could have stopped the surge.
The power of music. Especially potent metal.

These patios are killin’ it. Now live. But where does Megan Fox as a killer superhero reside? Temporarily and (mystically and mythically?) mixed and absent from The Agave.

“Brother will kill brother.” Tables will be stacked on tables, intertwining. And chairs across the land. Or at least the patios. “Something I don’t understand.”
Why, blood brothers and even twisted sisters, do these favorite spots of our watering holes ever have to close, although I concede the cold.
But in addition, has an era closed with the downgrading of that big Fox superhero with “S” photo, perched as my girl for well over a decade on the wings of the wound stairs of what had been the Twisted Grille? No, the tender Derek told me, it was just one of many memorabilia posters shelved for a while after a renovation that with cherry picker closed three or four parking spaces below for three or four weeks. Soon to rise as a captivating canine again, when there is space made on the walls among the many dozens of others. Someone tried to gain this image of goth, maybe, by theft and then bring it back. The server’s friend was also obsessed with the poster, so the wing man purchased another one as a gift. Collectively, there were scratches on paint and cracks on frame like those popping sounds being referenced in a music video as we speak, back in the day of vinyl not far back of when Megan reigned as a Transformer.
Though so enlightened, we take in at The Agave the White Room now there. That had black curtains — with a partial absence of chromos that also can be compelling, but remained within view (i.e. decorating dartboards and the walls they’re pushed up against) — and more tints. Its in the Bullpen. That upstairs cantina at the Agave Kitchen is now much brighter in look and tone and maybe tune, this new ivory tinge is way past Cream colored. But fellow bartender Allison said the color is so cool, except when you’re getting too chill with the lack of shadows, (as a buffer?), before accepting last call and heading into the night.
But to further de-digress, this and other patio-type places are now fully frontal functioning, but all the way to the back also, where they may be housing a dartboard or three. All but a few tiny tarps have been taken off the seating. Flowers are in bloom, and their garden boxes no longer topped by spurts of inch-high snow so you can view dirt, and even a few trees show color beyond buds in places. The most noteworthy such treatment is a wall of greenery that separates the south patio of Hop N Barrel and the north one of of Ziggy’s. These venues are among those getting it going first in 2023.
But as far as that, you can’t beat the new Bennett’s and its patio inside a patio — or better said, enclosed by four high walls going way up. Those walls of gold …
Make your tap tremendously tasty? A parked SUV-size van adds that they’ll clean up the beer both before and after you. Didn’t you think those glasses of brew came from somewhere, pouring forth after running through feet of plastic tubes and trying to avoid any forgotten filthiness. So there you have it, unfiltered.
Other patios are not ground level, which means some are enclosed, or at least partially. Not everyone knows, deep inside Mallory’s and down, not up to the very high rooftop reached with multiple sets of twin-stairs, there is a rather small Speakeasy with its fireplace in place, small bar in back and one fairly large room, dimly lit like the old way of the Agave. A commentator said that he was schooled by his son, who had worked there for months and knew well of what he spoke, having logged time up above but knew little of the Speakeasy. And I have only now noticed from a northern view, back windows could be seen surrounding a couch, and how the south end of their wall had plenty of lights on curved wires, and almost as many platforms that could be used as stop-offs, and one edged by a fire extinguishers and the like.
A likewise look at Champ’s in New Richmond makes it seem like a champ, with all the grooves and turns of boxlike machinery like turbines you can see — very like Pier 500 at its top — from ground level. But the Pier is the pinnacle of the nearby pier. With its broad umbrellas and its stones that form a long and high wall, the pieces so much bigger than you otherwise see. You can even spy the speckles from the street.
As far as the new seasonal completeness of its multi-faceted look with various amenities that include more than one set of stone, its Dick’s Bar. For sheer size, and the number of umbrellas if only down below, its the two-level Smilin Moose. For the urban-ish streetscape of an attractive three-story brick-based wall, to nod goes to San Pedro flowing into Pedro del Este.