Now that its 20 or more years later, the ex-drummer of the Black Crowes has again hit the local scene, this time in the radio talk show booth, not being the subject of the sound guy in the sound booth.
After being middle age or so in his former band’s gig at the River’s Edge near Somerset, when concerts on either side of the village were more the thing, Dave Gorman now takes his turn on the other side of the river, replacing the longtime stalwart of the KQ morning show, the now retiring Tom Bernard. He already was well into his tenure as the leader of the crew when this other show went on, as in the concert, and Gorman was in back on the skins.
I remember Gorman and his mates whipping through their rock standards with relative ease, and he supplied carefully placed but powerful drum fills to tunes, and leading their intros, like their main standard, the rockin’ out Hard to Handle. When other instruments such as percussion, of a folk style, were added the sound quality suffered. I wrote that in a concert review for the Eau Claire Leader-Telegram, to the degree that the entertainment section editor asked me after it was published if I had reservations about the band and their performance. I responded that they should stick to what they do best, even if that meant making changes in the presentation of certain songs over others in their set list’s order. My recollection was that both styles were given equal treatment, judging by the way the songs were mixed in.
The crowd didn’t seem to care, and they got a good look to make such a judgment, as the concert site was sloped gently toward the stage, which was elevated by about the helght of a basketball hoop. Good thing since the lead singer, Chris Robinson, was somewhat short in stature, and he had all those folk instruments surrounding him. Above what could have been a mosh pit if the band’s sound was harder, the nearly full moon was shrouded in mist, or what was a actually pot smoke, as legalization had been a champion cause of the group long before in gained more traction — this was over 20 years ago. I could smell it on my clothes and thought gee, I sure hope I don’t happen to get stopped on the way home by the heavy law enforcement that included squads with a checkpoint at all nearby points along the state line.
Topics like lighting up were, of course, frequent fodder for the morning show, and one wonders that since the move toward legalization is now more and more popular, will the tack taken by its hosts change at all with the addition of Gorman? And on something like the occasional St. Croix Riverboat party cruises, they’d be straddling the border between Wisconsin and Minnesota, with potential differences in state laws on such matters, as they work their way through one Legislature, or the other, or both. Cruising north toward Stillwater you could light up, but south angling toward Prescott, you couldn’t? Continue on down until Iowa?
A big reason Gorman got this new gig was the fact he has had his own syndicated radio show, which even aired on KQRS for a while. He was very articulate with detailed discussion, and of course had many stories from the road — between songs on a theme and their analysis, his staple. That show had its wraps after midnight, an adjustment from now where you’d usually hit the air before dawn.

Today we will dig into anniversaries, of all types, part of the local history of rock and roll.
And wrestling too, as there is the Old School NWA stuff. Thus back to the roots of today’s entertainment for a ziggy zaggy barrel of fun. And we hope for the best with a possible boondoggle.
The local scene has abounded with marking the passing of things like 10 years in business, then 11 …
And since there are stats that these days, many grill and bars that start up only last a year or two, these anniversaries show significance. Five years can be a sign of longevity.
To summarize, on Thursday, Jan. 19, is a celebration of the fourth anniversary in business of Ziggy’s music club in Hudson. Nextdoor to that popular venue is Hop and Barrel, in the midst of its fifth anniversary slate. And looking ahead to the heyday of the Hudson Hot Air Affair, Jan. 28 features the intro event of this installment of the more than 30 years of flying high, with as its outro a Boondoggle of a band that’s been around for almost that long, part of an all-evening, five-hour blitz.

— And now there are no more Packers or even Vikings — except in Led Zeppelin folklore and also the hope for next year — so there is no more chance to take in a killer Kwik Trip special. In short, the number of points that the Packers came up with in each game during the season would give you a given amount off, for two days, your gas/pizza. (To munch on during the next weekend’s game?) So the downfall of Rodgers and Co. meant Kwik Trip saved a bunch of money. If this special ran a few years back, with Rodgers gunning for five touchdowns on any given Sunday, it just might have bankrupted the convenience store chain. —

Hop and Barrel, fittingly spelled like rock and roll with its, twice, use of the three-letter word in the three, has become known for regularly hosting comedy nights and the wrestling events, of course, so five years will likely get you ten on down the line.
The latest Hop and Barrel wrestling extravaganza, to be held on Saturday, Jan. 21, has NWA written all over it, and more than a dozen of its stars are on a promo poster that’s making its rounds at downtown establishments, yet again. The divas of course look great, but not quite at the same level as most Smackdown. So, it is billed as Beautiful Brutality. You will have to fork over a Benjamin to see them.
On Thursday at the music club that has an abutting patio, and also offers occasional comedy nights and other such events, the rub is that you can get select killer and cool/hot eats and libations for only three dollars. And on that day at Ziggy’s, there is a full six hours of music, from two different acts, the proverbial Piano Man and yes, a rock group. And after getting revved up at the wrestling two days later, you can go let it out here with another band, Flash Mob. The Mob Rules?

In the last weekend of the month, at the kickoff to the Hot Air Affair, there are tasting samples of myriad types from dozens of local vendors, food and drink galore. And then there’s the band. Boondoggle is a longtime locally-sourced rock and roll band. Since their style is not totally ramped up volume and tempo, they are a great fit for this event, allowing patrons the option to take a closer listen and/or share conversation over food and drink, and switch from one to the other when a favorite song kicks in — but even then be able to finish that story. The members of Boondoggle have played these types of gigs for a long time. Thus they have the experience to put on a show without drowning out the speaking of their listeners with one another, as they are solid with their musicianship and not simply loud. This event is the Taste of the Hot Air Affair, a bit up nort’ at White Eagle Golf Club, from 5:30 to 10:30 p.m.

Minus five then ten, temps falling. Or 20 or 30, wind chills. Or 40 or 50, wind gusts.
And in that (over the hills and not so far away?) place at the opposite corner of the state it was mostly a green Christmas. But go more south it was slip slidin’ away, from both rain and even more snow.
But the show that is the snow, goes on and on and on. KARE 11 last night aired a plea by fire chiefs — as their lead story no less — from the station’s home section of the metro to clear up around hydrants. And be patient with garbage removal and mailbox areas also, the latter of which you have more control over as a resident. In my neck of the woods the hydrants sit free and open to be accessed, when needed in this that can be a fire season, and even can be covered with sheer plastic hoods for more safekeeping.
Can’t always say the same for the electrical-cable-phone stacks that are often stacked up with snow. And the sidewalks, long stretches that are as bare of snow as can be, but still long walks the length of a block or so, where it is trudging and ready for stumble from snow and ice, but not sheets of it. An example of a text on the start of the battle: “Begin moving around snow piles tomorrow and Monday.”

— Additionally, I hope there were more yuks than yams in your yule, and it was yummy. But if not …
Could I be that guy, rhetorically, since my name is Joe Winter? Like that ex of, my fantasy woman, Alanis Morrissette, who is the guy said by many — but there are other theorists — to have inspired her song “You Oughta Know,” considered the most venomous breakup tune of its type and time since, basically, the ancient Greeks on the lyre.
Anyway, thus says the recruiting sign by a company that might be more fun then effective: Dear Winter. I’m breaking up with you because I need to be seeing more seasons.
That on top of: Jingle all the way, because nobody likes a half-assed jingler. (They actually wrote that. Where are the censors? Will I be blocked for my plagarism, or swear word, or both?) —

In downtown New Richmond, I saw a section of big bench with all but a tad of snow removed — so I had to check out the two on the other side of the street. Results were as mixed as the nature of the precipitation. And during a return trip for viewership, after seeing the biggest solitary snowball imaginable but not a full snowman and not connected to the Santa figure a foot away, were other benches up the way buried in even more snow, so to be neck-high.

— That like music recordings in studio need to be mixed, or be junk. On a traveling junket? The Junk FM band like so many others, though based in Minneapolis, played New Year’s Eve in the Eau Claire area, was on tap at Ziggy’s music club in Hudson on that infamous for other reasons Jan. 6, and is back there on Jan. 19, with more weekend showings in both the Ziggy’s in Stillwater and Hudson through February. And they find time to perform for the troops stationed in the Middle East between some gigs, even if there has been only scant movement toward peace among the combatants.
But for other big-time acts going on, see Picks of the Week. And Bigly is back in town, at The Smilin’ Moose, on Jan. 27. —

Thus there has been a need for “movements,” so I put down my shopping bag of music CDs and more and helped an elderly lady with that shoveling which laid before her. She had done her part, already giving it a good start, so I turned the shovel and spiked a pike to the ice a few times. (And to mention ice, there is the semi-frozen One Block Run in Hudson’s downtown this Saturday at noon near the Hudson arch in the park.
And oh that wind. I love the series of red and white lit candy canes, accompanied by glowing and sparkling globes … but … was it the gales that meant on a key bitter night in early December the plug-ins above the sidewalk were, unplugged. Its not just a guitar that does this.
Other globes were almost grounded, reaching snowbank height while decorating trees, due to the sheer weight of snow on pine branches.
And was it the same force of wind that broke open a big wooden gate that obstructs vision to the dumpster at my apartment complex. Or were people just tossing away so much stuff, even in advance of a materialistic Christmas. The shopping projections said so, increasing with each year.
Also picking up is all the housing construction in the area, Tyvek material frequently flapping in the breeze. A few weeks earlier, most of what we saw was a several-stories-high elevator installation, standing high above the land, like the forebearer of an ice cathedral. And another thing we need to construct — a brand new rock club. Both moreso at night.
Then that big ol’ ice storm.
I had never seen such slippery slopes, even when they are not truly sloped, much less have to walk on it. Any lack of complete levelness would make you fall via quickly slidden foot. Usually it slides about eight inches, but then, alas, the foot’s position always comes back to fruition. Bartender Mabel said, wisely, watch it while you walk on with your step on the way home alone. Even in the downtown sidewalks, it was tricky. Many series of sidewalks, more and more. And the ice was so slick and sheer with not a hint of snow-like moisture. But I did not fall down. Almost thought I should call Mabel to let her know the goods news, ease her mind.
A Hudson dance troupe, even though not on the northern end of my base, got what would be a trend rolling. They made, as was emailed the Wednesday Before Christmas, it official: We would have a snow day and no official dance routines and lessons, just what could be done in the comfort of their homes, literally. Then in a day or so came the announcement, which could be redacted with another snow day, and than I think re-redacted: “We are back on normal schedule.”
After many daytime private lessons had been cancelled, evening group classes and ugly Christmas sweater country dance party also got the cold shoulder and were rescheduled due to weather that took a whole dozen words to describe. “We hope to be open tomorrow, but stay tuned as we all watch the weather and roads.” Maybe just post photos.
Seems like a long time since I asked those at late fall football bonfire, far corner of their yard, which pro team was dominating, despite impending ice storm. Vikings cited, then redacted, then reclaimed. All in one sentence. No love for the actual Ice Bowl. Brings back days for which we sat and waited, outdoors, when the Vikes were cold weather warriors worry of the true Norse.

Now that The Number of The Six is past, as in not another Jan. 6 White House revolt, and the Georgia runoff of that same numerical date has been run-off by a former running back and not again challenged …
So it is finished. I hope. Maybe. But this is politics.
Makes bar math seem basic. Or make you want to hit the sports bar, for its distractions of sports and other things.
So now, take Georgia, and the now politician Hershel Walker — remember him and his debacle of a Vikings job as battering ram back and savior? — losing by only a handful of votes or two in bid to become governor. The first time around. The exact numbers? For with the alleged vagueness that its done these days, I wrote last fall, you’ll just have to stay tuned … Maybe by the time the next election rolls around, we’ll know. Sort of.
But wait, the vote was indeed held and Walker did not walk away a winner. He would not be governor although hey, c’mon really, if it comes down to 51-49 percent did you really do that bad a job in running, of this type.

— The sky is falling and its Biden’s fault. Going big to the border, soon billions, and it started with the ozone layer diminishing and allowing through a meteor that wiped out several immigrant processing stations. So Biden now has to control the weather too, and is also getting flack for not doing more about climate change. Hey, wait a minute … —

And as far as the state of things, didn’t something like this happen the former time there was such an election, as The Devil Went Down To Georgia.
(I do need to interject something here. Walker apparently suffers from mental health issues such as depression. So let’s not be too rough on him, as its been squarely charged, by even his own son, that he was goaded into running for office, so the Republicans could offer a black-man-voting-choice against another black candidate. Down South, where Walker was a superstar, moreso than now, while playing for the University of Georgia Bulldogs, it might not be known that he once attempted suicide by letting the car run while seated inside. So let’s not bring on another tragedy. I slept before finishing this article, and oddly had a dream about Southern hospitality being shown to me to make a trip along the Georgia oceanic coast inexpensive and fun).
With those things said, there still are questions, although maybe to be thrown another direction. But all accounts, this Walker was not a family values guy, but the Republicans still found him useful, politically.
And then, closer to today, there is the speakership ala McCarthy. It could change and he could have fully hopped on board between the time I am writing this and when you reddit. Oops, meant to say read it. I think vote No. 40 will be the charm, Biblicial symbolism besides.
So it goes, I fear there will there be still more questions on “winner-ship,” as the process limps along, just different races. I originally wrote this in November, as things continued with some slack, with a few races not yet finalized, and I am now calling winner-ship a word, of some import, via Webster’s.
Of interest is that on my computer, the breaking news of who would be Wisconsin governor was listed under the heading of two out-of-state newspapers, the Minneapolis-based Star-Tribune and Des Moines Register. So I guess in this state, we’re somebody now. Or again.
Simply STOP over the TOP, as in The Obstruction Party.
There is likely one obscure H named word and its not Huckebee that will haunt us courtesy of many of those elected, that being that we’ve been hoodwinked, or probably partially so. For we are still down for the added-word Simply Obstructionist Party (STOP) to mainly one and he is Ron Johnson, and because Gov. Evers got in again, the former will be limited in exacting more of his feed-the-ultra-rich actions. (Take a lesson there all you conservative farmers). The news was broken by Fox that one in five families would not be able to purchase a turkey last Thanksgiving, and obviously they are blaming Biden. The other four out of five, or maybe just three, would have no problem purchasing five or ten turkeys, thank you.
The biggest groundbreaking trend — the newer Walker politician aside — were females in the GOP in as Gov, window-dressing only as a matter of how they will dress, and skirting the issue of how many will be the ways this new conservatism will run roughshod over women.
Signs of the times …
These days, the political signs are smaller, like the country roads that they could be on — or not — even for the likes of Ron Johnson, now in again. Did see quite a bit for Evers, and what he has apparently done for small businesses.
It is or was time, a bit over a week into November, where by local ordinance to get those vote for my guy, or girl, favorites off your lawn, like along Sixth Street East, where there were three groups of four signs and each set a crucial six feet apart, within less than two blocks. The lone sign that had remained was thanking poll workers, a really thankless job these days with all the challenges to elections.
And you get bet there will be a whole another round of them to endure for months to come, and years also, as in this country you have never really lost until there is no court left to run your lawsuit through.

Before the clock struck ten, it was time for the revelry to begin. As the warmer weather had set it.
Like even last year’s 16 below temps — which still did not seem to create much of a damper — could keep the crowds away from their haven of haunts for another holiday, them being open two more hours, (weekday time).
This was New Year’s Eve in downtown Hudson, although it took a few venues a bit to get rolling, thinks were relatively balmy inside and out, and come time for the evening news, the news was that I didn’t even want to guess how many thousands of people the overall joint would eventually push through, by the typical 4 a.m. closing.
A stop at Hudson Tap, at around 8 p.m., where the flood of people had not set in. Give that a half-hour, and the families with young kids would be slowly replaced by the more typical New Year’s Eve-ish crowd, as it filtered in. A quick walk that was a very short jaunt toward the freeway, saw a few couples that could be Classic Rockers working their way back to where I had been.
Then cut ahead to a little after 9 p.m. I thought I recognized the server who was setting up shop behind a steel tub, which was then filled with several bags of ice and then beer She thought things were, still, a bit slower than her liking. But our eyes met as one, and I advised: “give it 20 minutes.”
The resulting rush, for her and co-workers, was like an octopus with suction cups at the tips of its squishy legs. (I’ve just been waiting to use that gag).

This is not as funny as Geico:
Three straight insurance offers popped up into my inbox in just two seconds and only two did Universal coverage and one just Life. And so goes my life. They need a life. Or this time, was it me. Minnesota 3-2 beer? And can I get Insurance for such semi-spam?
A full 3 into 2 messages popped up on my inbox screen red-hot-button prompter, as I think another had just arrived and was deemed to be starred (or trash?) in my eyes, so does that mean it’s deleted, and that’s OK, as we’ve all been there?? (When a tree falls and wind thusly blows in the woods and no one hears or “sees” it with starry eyes … and did this mean I’m actually the one to blame, if I got the analogy wrong?) I think — in a nano-second it was — this time they were timely — when on the bus ticket they said St. Paul and not Hudson, actually, was the place to be picked up. Oh, wait that was my other bus line (yes, there were taken simultaneously, believe it or not, and see how in the previous post. Just that the latter ticket should have said Lakeland rather than the park and ride across from the Hudson Target store). So we go round again?

At Ziggy’s, would the elves and their pointy ears on yet another holiday be behind the counter, on their way back to pick up at the bar-rail, or there out in the audience. Oh, it was a patron, but on this night not listening to a Celtic band.
Next the keyboard, three women (and I think one guy?), were gathered around, on the edge of the ivories. I said they could be the Piano Women. Their bling could bring a jingle.
And bling? I saw out for the first time in ages, a fabulous and leggy woman sporting barely-there strappy and spiked heels. There had been the fashion motif to have worker-meets-metal-concert boots that were tweaked to have a smaller-scale, cool style look, but has now turned functional with the cold and snow. (More relatively soon on this website, about such fashion trends that more and more define things …)
Back up the way again, just north of the corner with Walnut, was an Old School Hudson antique shop, being on the move, which had a set of two scaffoldings taking up space on the sidewalk, to be walked around. (This was the second time I’d had to negotiate this space, and again (after-hours?), there was no construction crew racing things forward, like the whole deal where there on the freeway are/can be dozens or hundreds of orange barrels and nobody blasting concrete, at least at the time. (Maybe I should change-up my driving schedule).
The first time to get-on-by this walking barrier, I encountered on the other side a worker for FedEx, and it was a game of chicken to see who would first enter into the 12-foot-long narrow foot track that still was stilted in snow. He graciously gave in. What a professional.

My travel plans, or not, were an experience right before Christmas along the (bus) lines of the classic holiday movie Planes, Trains and Automobiles. But throw in cancelled bus rides (plural) and stolen luggage also, at the very time my bus was supposed to be arriving, and then leaving again. This was not The Who’s silly Magic Bus.
But in the long haul, since I’m still able to get home for the holidays, just on a different holiday, New Year’s, I can max out on Christmas for the majority of its 12 days anyway. (But now the horrific snow and such appears slated for yet another return and encore, depending just where you are along the swirling meteorology mess). Happy New Year!
The cancellation craziness started when Flixbus bolted on me, more than two days before the trip was set to roll out down the highway on the day before Christmas Eve, leaving from the Union Depot station in St. Paul. Those highways proved heinous in places. But not nearly everywhere.
So hey, there are other options out of St. Paul, and eventually even air and Amtrak travel were considered. So my next step was to call Megabus, which I thought with their likewise once a day, every day, trip to Milwaukee, had saved me at Christmas as even in this late-going I got a fare. Or …
Little did I know there would be a round two.
When I was dropped off, I saw that I still had a few minutes before the bus arrival. Whew. Wind around the corner with my two big bags and one small and get right to the gate. That’s when my cell phone dinged and my mood flattened like a worn-out tire. There would be no bus pulling up. Like so many they were caving in to the weather. Then send days later a survey, if you are Megabus, for you to describe what was “pleasant” about your trip, the one you never took.
When I turned around to read the latter of the cancellation text messages, and more importantly the refund policy, I set a small bag down next to a stairwell, then walked up it because a big van that was loading at the time appeared to be my Megabus. (Could the text be in erroneous? But when looking further, it turned to be a metro transit vehicle). I told the other four potential passengers waiting by the depot door about the cancellation, which was so newly given that they needed to review it first on their own phones.
My non-grinchlike behavior was not rewarded, as when I turned around I could not find the bag. Apparently it had been stolen during the span of a minute or two. I initially feared that some important medications were now lost, and since they had been filled the day before, getting a replacement would not be allowed by the doctor for the majority of the coming month, which in my case could put me into medical crisis for — anxiety. That’s enough to make anyone anxious. I thought it through and determined that the medications in question were likely stowed away in another suitcase. So I breathed easier, for the moment. I wouldn’t be able to check in the well-packed luggage for them until home, however, since my driver was near. He was nice enough to double back, as I had called in the midst of my quick search to ask, while reaching down to the bag that was now non-existent, at least in my newly formed opinion. Restless, I checked around the area once more. No dice. A security guard called one of his mates to quick the video camera, and that did not yield anything, although he did wish me a Merry Christmas. Twice.
I think I know where the bag went. Preface this, there was much more security there then usual, and they were asking people about their business. One man stood out, who was trying to bum a cigarette, even though he had one in his hand. I didn’t have that, but I thought I’d dig into that bag I lost and offer him one of my last candy canes, along with good holiday cheer. But then I got sidetracked. So maybe he got one anyway. Or more.
When home, I saw that only two meds were missing — aspirin and caffeine — but both of them now seemed even more needed. Then when sitting down to write this story, the news hit my brain like a blizzard cyclone bomb — my newly minted reporter’s notebook was also gone with the wind. Would I still have the write stuff?
The driver had been sympathetic, on various fronts. The company should have known well beforehand that travel would be curtailed, although the storm could have been far worse in the area as far as snow, but the roads were just a bit greasy traveling out of St. Paul, getting cleaner while heading east. “What you really have to watch is the black ice,” he said, adding there was precious little of this to make him in danger of a skid. Upon further review with weather reports, conditions had turned worse again with heavier snow near Madison, which tapered off near Milwaukee until the lake effect hit as busses veered south to Chicago — the entire route my vehicle would have taken. So there were a lot of factors for the bus company planners to consider.
It is ironic, he agreed, that the big bus company based in Germany, which had bought-out Greyhound, would be more on top of weather situations, and canceled on a timely basis, then one with a longer tenure in the States. And they followed up before the holiday was over, to offer a 25 percent discount on the next ride. Megabus, on the other hand, did not send what was only an automated cell phone survey to me until two days later, which asked if I had a “pleasant” trip (by bus or driver?). Then back to Flixbus, and their new offer of a 25 percent discount on a next fare for my trouble, although the time-frame to use it isn’t long. Could I claim that, both, along with my refund/new trip? Or have to pick one? A latter email from Flixbus said they were experiencing some fine-tuning with their very revised slate of post-acquisition pickup spots. Maybe used their off-time due to weather to get that tweaked. Sounds reasonable to me; my family not as forgiving. And my inbox continues to be bombarded with more offers and counter-offers from both bus services, some tied to the trip that never was. Greyhound would make three.

The local geography of it …
As we neared Lakeland and the state line, other considerations came into play. The next fare lived near Somerset. Winding through Bayport, then using the new Stillwater bridge sounded pretty sweet, and I remember thinking I could see those three church steeples near downtown Stillwater against the horizon if I turned my head. A sweet view I thought, and help salvage the holiday. Taking the other route around the river from Hudson to Houlton, I feared, could yield the same problem I had encountered a number of times on Wisconsin Hwy. 35 just to the south of the bridge after construction — very bad fog, or in this case wind driven snow.
As it was, we opted to go to New Richmond via Roberts, and Interstate 94 was fine for driving, with Wisconsin Hwy. 65 having more blowing snow.
A recent text from my mom had said that almost everyone on the other end was sick, some quite a bit so, thus the new plan might have been for the best anyway. Could they even make it that night? One moderately ill couple said they would try, but would they expose my elderly dad. My brother was in need for his shovel, a Christmas present. And his daughter had a crazy story like mine, locked out of their house with the dog and having to seek shelter in a nearby church. Fitting during this season.
Once in the apartment building, I saw that a Good Samaritan/Santa — maybe even the carrier himself — had dropped copies of the area advertising shopper right at the doorways of some of the units.
Inside, there was one more trick waiting to be played on me. I phoned my mom back and gave her a further breakdown of what the coming weekend would or could entail — she had been next on the initial calling chain after my driver — and while on the line, the power went out. Or appeared to. Again a trick. After a bit of pondering, I thought it odd that the computer was still on, so I flipped the light switches and thank God there was again light!
And over Christmas itself back there, the TV went out during the Packer game, but this time the coverage could not be restored until the final whistle.
And that carry-on bag that was stolen? Mom replaced it in triplicate, as a gift, when I actually got home for Christmas/New Year. I guess the travel plans, such as they were, gave her a lot more shopping time.

And I’m the one who finds sermons difficult to sit through. Prefer heavy metal versions. But I knew I’d find the inevitable similarities.
And very recently, it wasn’t at a stadium, but under a steeple.
I couldn’t get a seat on any bus, plane, train or automobile, as the weather was the dominant and of course forced all kinds of cancellations.
So now I had a Christmas at my home, both days, by myself completely — and I don’t drive. But no worries. So I thought I’d do something new; brave the cold and go to not one church service but as many multiples as I could find the time, walking to all within a little more than a square mile — I checked with google before going — to feel the most full Christmas experience possible. Got up to three. Two others were along the periphery, of my square, and the snow drove back my foot that was slow.
The streets and wind above them were at turns very cold and slippery. I knew I should have brought or bought a face-mask, but I’m sure stores such as WalMart were closed for the holiday.
First off was a Methodist … no wait a Catholic church.
As I approached, I noticed a truck that had a license plate with a wicked cut on Winters — how dare he throw snowballs at me and my Fathers and even my Father’s Fathers. More lineage progression to be noted further down. Another such vehicle prompted a quick pack and then a snowball toss from one side to another.
The first church’s belltower indeed towered over me when I snapped a selfie, and the camera froze up like my mustache (kidding).
Inside Immaculate Conception, I was greeted by a very dark-haired woman kicking it with what was an (almost) little black dress. Shortly after, I was directed to be cautious, (with my wording) since as a sign said a few feet into the main worship area, Slippery careful when wet. Later, at the Lutheran church, A tall blonde sported a skirt with fabric much like small chain-links and boots, both befitting what she’d wear to a rock concert.
One man said he chose to linger in the gathering area since he had a cold and did want to be in close quarters with others in a pew. A friend greeted him, and noteworthy was the number of visitors who had gathered at their house already in the evening. “We had 26 people,” she said, a counterpoint to the man’s self-quarantine at the 5 p.m. service.
In two churches, including Immaculate Conception, people asked when specific service times were, as there were two options, or if arriving early, whether they were even being held at all, due to weather. So there were a pair of different Mass Intentions offered at IC. When the pastor asked to share a sign of peace greeting, even if using a fist pump, and it got loud — OK maybe not concert volume — for the length of a long held note. The first two hymns were very into the longtime traditional, and one first verse was sung in the native Latin. Cool.
The Gospel reading, leading off the first chapter of Matthew, gave a long listing of the lineage of Christ, something I’ve always thought to be very impressive in its exactness, such as a genealogy.
The Gospel was said to portray the extended family, of sorts, of Christ, and there were 14 generations followed by 14 more. Seven and seven, twice, and if you know your Bible, you know what that demonstrations. Seven is perhaps its main symbol to represent perfection. There are many heavy metal songs that reference that theme. I immediately thought of the concept album that is the Seventh Son of a Seven Son by Iron Maiden. In folklore, such a manchild is said to possess divine powers. In the album, this child is carefully watched by the elders as he progresses in wisdom to make sure he uses them for good and not evil.
Very worthy of note, in irony: In the album, there is a child who is conceived though an immoral and even illegal act, which was necessary to continue the blood line, and later there comes this child who will save the world and bring peace, who is born via an act of violence.
Usage of threes, as in the Holy Trinity and three people who were crucified and the three who are said to have ascended, is rampant in the Bible and I saw a nod to that in the Christmas trees in the front and to the side of the altar. There were three large ones and further away, three small ones, each with one tree set apart from the other two, to show a position of prominence. This theme is represented well on the stage design seen in so many Judas Priest concerts, this time using trios of crosses.
I was curious to see if there would be mention, in the homily, of all the strife that has gone on in the world since the last Christmas — come to save the world — and the one before that and before that. How to stick in coping with extraordinary circumstances.
Hey, the blessed child came to the world in an extraordinary way during his heyday, the scripture reading said.
But some of the people in the lineage of Christ were far from that high bar, the homilist noted. You can’t read the Bible too long before you note that the Israelites screwed up early and often, bringing God’s wrath, than saving power, then wrath again …
There’s more …
Next up was St. Luke’s, very Lutheran, even the omnipresent bossy usher, telling those naughty and nice children to keep the door closed. A woman walked past him carrying a fiddle, to go up next to the next church level and its clanging bells and organ. On the door was what looked to be a Sacred Heart, just a different version than that championed by the Catholics, and one of its children then metalhead Ronnie James Dio, and Dream Theater and …
Then the lighted candles along the pews lengths, four times four, so 16 candles, like the movie … OK on second look a total of 18, as two had been added on each end.
And lastly the Methodists, who had a main church sporting more stained glass windows than I could remember, and several times more than that, smaller candles for everyone to grab, all set out on a table far enough away for a woman to ask about, before taking one.
“Come back any time,” the head usher said. So I did the next day, dropping off some canned goods at their free Christmas Day dinner. The greeter, again, said with a smile, back so soon? I don’t think it was the person from the night before, but hey I could be wrong, as I’m not always one of the Three Wise Men.
As I approached the side door, a women had just pulled up in an SUV, entered briefly and then walked back. She asked if I could take the box she’d dropped off the rest of the way, to the lower level. “I’m sorry for being a bit lazy,” she said, but I was back at ya with her, as hey it is a holiday, so take a load off. And Merry Christmas was mentioned by both of us. I told her I was happy to have more of a donation to I’d grant her request.
I thought the box was full of food donations, but it turned out to be empty! Mrs. Grinch?
But the people below graciously accepted what I had brought, so the road back met my feet sore well. Some cool ornaments, such as they were, became part of my Christmas story. One stuck in a snowbank appeared to be a furry red decoration, but as I walked closer shown itself to be a badly placed window scraper, with the brush end up. The other looked quite like a Santa, but although it rose from a snowbank showed its true colors. It was red — OK actually pink — but was really turned out to be a happily grinning sharklike Bobblehead.
So a happy Hallmark holiday ending to this story.

The weather may, for those weary of it, actually make for a few last-minute gift opportunities.
So have a Merry but materialistic Christmas, using your main machines as presents. In doing so, guard the chief transportation chances that are a given to be golden — such as they are and by making new ones — and keep them close like your loved ones, and most of all keep them all warm, God Bless Us Each And Every One Of Them. And the animals too. As every animal rights protection agency in the 50 states, (and maybe not Puerto Rico as it spells too much like now busy again winter-escape Rio), will weigh in on, especially these last few days. OK, maybe not California. But Texas also has weighed in, as temps there have been so far below freezing that even usually cowboy-hat hardened but otherwise uninitiated Texans are cowering.
But let me not digress on this Christmas Eve afternoon. These are some very last-minute ideas that my have to actually be delivered later — even though there is mail-to-your-door service today and that includes the U.S. Postal Service to your mailbox and pity the carriers as their doors are open to the wind and weather as they go. But even if getting there late, next-day on the 26th, isn’t it that thought that counts? Many retail stores are open until 4 or 5 p.m. So grab a card pointing out your newly hatched plan. (And the way things are going of late, that mail carrier with that again last-minute Christmas card might not arrive after you get back from church services.

— Bad jokes are like bad sweaters, but with today’s ramped-up fashion sense, only the latter come around less frequently, as in just seasonally (we hope). A favorite clerk of mine, at Dick’s Market, was wearing her full reindeer horns right before the holidays meant a scheduled shutdown of her store. I told her she looked like Rudolph, but that didn’t go over well, as my use of pronoun wasn’t apt. She added that she does not have a red nose, as that would’ve been reserved for those in quality control over at the liquor store end of the business. So I thought to myself, as I’ve gotten to know her fairly well but maybe not THAT well, can I get away with calling her Cupid?
My even worse joke of the week, or so, now follows, and unlike most of mine, this one is short and sweet (you will see the meaning behind THAT word choice): Did you know that creepy guy also works as a cashier? You don’t want him checking you out!” —

Anyway …
I saw for sale on-line — so you can get it whether you are local or in any of the many countries where this website is read, but that might not include Russia/Siberia where the ideas could be most needed — a killer hybrid between a snowmobile and amped-up and bigger golf cart and small tank, that could get you through anything from a blizzard to a sand storm. And just as killer boots that could have you walk this way across any kind of slippery ice, (we can’t promise walking on water). They in following the golf theme have on their soles (to save your souls on this holiday?) what looks like a combo of dozens of three-times-larger spikes, and thick claws that were sold on either the black market, or by really cold and desperate critters, or both, that had these as surplus since they couldn’t dig deep enough into the snow to use them anyway! Sorry for being grinch-like, but there’s more on how to help cold animals next.
Even shivering Texas cows. Send loads of the following their way, in reversing the trend of immigrants being bussed up north, and you might indeed need a bus, to areas where the real blizzard rages on. The Inter-County Cooperative Publishing Cooperative, up in my area of western Wisconsin, sells shredded newsprint paper as livestock bedding, (it references sheep and pigs too), for $237.50 a ton, divvied into 95 bags. There are a variety of smaller orders available for Fido or Friskers. There is an extra charge for just the sports pages (just kidding). And of course their online version is said to produce great results for sales as a shopper, but in this case … Area farmers of things other that the usual hay or corn, as hey in Wisconsin we raise a bit of everything, also have been known to take some of their stuff that’s expired and use it for such bedding needs. Strike them a deal? Or barter for some kind of a trade?
Then must reference mom. Her neighbor is a bit too frail to put out birdseed, so mom’s feeder is the gathering place this holiday for everything from a host of heavenly cardinals to a bunch of rabbits, minus a hutch. So a few pounds worth gone in the last 24 hours. Stores that are open to buy more? And the will to fight the cold and wind? Step in an online course designed mostly for fishermen and fisherwomen, but now adapted, teaching how to most effectively and quickly “cast.” Not using your rod, but from the back patio door.
And the new boots to trudge through new and deep snow, to get to where the birdies go? Need the steel-toed and thick fabriced, metal worker variety, like dad wore? (Knew we shoulda kept them when the last spring cleaning came around). Or reference those killer boots described above.

The top Piano Man (or Men) in the Twin Cities, as the claim is made, takes you all the way over to Hudson and the first club over the river.
The rage got started some months ago by Tim Grady, and a substitute, Josh Quinn, soon would be shown to the piano at times, right in the midst of the lower-level gathering at Ziggy’s in Hudson a full four early-evenings a week. A third piano-playing compadre, positioned dead center in the downstairs next to a huge bannister, would eventually be added, when the others had either other gigs or a night off, as Ziggy’s had made its play in the downtown market as the only club with music virtually every day/or/night of the week. Even on the other end of the several-block district, The Smilin’ Moose and its managers had gently conceded such to Ziggy’s, but the Moose finally has on its loose bands back a time or two a month, heavy on country stalwart Tim Sigler, who had been a fixture there before moving on to Ziggy’s, and now being shown mostly in a return to The Moose.
Grady is remarkably solid on the grand and plays to the crowd between songs with ease and intellect — going beyond the usual Piano Man jokes that would jangle Joel — while with some others a bit more flair shows through, going past boogie woogie and jazz, into the realm of even relatively hard rock. And that third guy, even moreso when he’s part of the three-season solo acts on the patio(s) of the Smilin’ Moose, really ratchets up the tempo.
(And more on how that tempo, at Ziggy’s and zounds of other places, will be effected two-fold early this weekend, then waning by Christmas Day itself. See the Picks of the Week department).

— Gotta go Grinch for a moment.
The traffic was thick when well lit streets were partially blocked off and veering this way and that, and to and frow in a search for parking, for a large light-up night at Lake Front Park in downtown Hudson. So I would call this, as my tongue-in-cheek wish: “All I want for Christmas is two fronts of anarchy in the park.” And in another seasonal song, Santa Dio, as he was termed, showed that you can tell a lot about a musician and their theology by the songs they cover, in his case “God rest ye merry gentlemen,” which adds that “Christ was born on Christmas Day to save us all from Satan’s power as we had gone astray.” That’s an interesting choice for the late Ronnie James Dio, frontman for groups like Black Sabbath, for a heavy metal version of a hymn because he has said that although he grew up Catholic, he has problems with certain tenets of Christianity, especially that its messiah would have the audacity to make (or confirm?) the claim of being the Son of God, whether true or not. The line at question in the carol Dio picked says Christ, “was born in Bethlehem the Son of God by name.” So, pious after all? Or just full of Christmas cheer and thus forgiving? —

Quinn in black cowboy hat was a fill-in one of my first nights taking in all Ziggy’s has playing, (TGIF), as he noted the shorter-haired Grady was then on vacation on a far southern isle. The rub, as you might or might not guess, is that Grady was indeed On A Boat, like the rap act that appeared many a time on video screens of dance places just to the north in Hudson. Only blocks away, but not having the Black Keys?
You might even hear some Eminem, with a piano twist, of course, maybe by both. I heard one of his songs requested by the woman standing next to me — who bolted away from the conversation briefly with a couple of quick steps to make her suggestion. It was next-up, of course.
Then the Jen factor, (see some of her postings on this site soon). She wanted another such song you might not expect from a piano man, and Grady greatly fit it in soon after, despite having played it earlier, prior to our arrival. For us latecomers, he gave a fist-pump shoutout.
The way was paved with that Take On Me song from the ’70s, I think it was, which I approved of, and made it known, the treatment given this and some other ditties, creating a single but multifaceted stream of sound by plinking a combination of lines running concurrently, that I’ll call double-noting. And Quinn’s shifting and at times sultry vocal chops, while also pounding out the blues on the black and white, were well displayed in Tied To The Whipping Post — and linked at the hip with his piano. And yes that Allman Brother, of all people, has been known to show up at the front bar.
Back to Grady, who tackled metal mayhem’s vocalist Cory Taylor of Slipknot — known for both a variety of growls and melody and a history filled with inconceivable loss — by capturing all of Taylor’s pained poignance of missing a loved one in his song Snuff.
Throw in some older Supertramp and you’ve got a party that goes past just the lovers of keys. You’d be unlikely though, to go as far as hearing Keeper of the Seven Keys.

Ziggy’s has become the newer version of another main music club, also in Stillwater, that being the seasonal Pappy’s, so close to be actually on the river, but not baring boating attire. The ladies especially, are typically 30-ish but still stunners in a curvy way, and through all the fickleness of the pandemic fashion, their attire this summer remained steady in style. Long on mid-to-short-length dresses, many a bit thick with their fabric, and big clunky heels — a few times accentuated in opposing fashion by an open-toe look that has included pink nails — or at times spiked, to match. Plunging necklines amidst just a few rising hairlines. Less chance of bare midriff, although a select few of the women when they first got their ID, might have back in the ’90s … You know.
A bit of glitzy glamour, big glam jewelry, multiple colors and stripes or dots on dresses. And other style shifters, rebels many, to boot. Get on the dance floor, the size of a free throw lane in this Viking sports bar, right in front of the piano and spin.
At the other end of the room is a moderately sized stage, and you could even fit in a drummer, that earlier in the year featured someone who has played in that capacity for decades. His resurrected band, Thirsty Camel, resurfaced and had a number of early-weeknight gigs. Brad, featuring his Charley Watts-like drumming brand, could also be seen socializing before gigs and on off-nights, those more-and-more frequent piano excursions.
Another my man, or so I told him, looked like a younger Robert Plant. (What, which rock icon of that period, I was asked?) And the main owner, too, resembles both vocalist Plant and the aforementioned patron.

This venue, via its downstairs, got rocking to an even larger extent earlier this summer, filling up much faster than the other Hudson clubs at an early hour, not long after Grady, or Quinn, would start at 5 p.m. There was a bit of a lull come fall, but these days its back to an even fuller house on the lower level when the upperstairs band finishes setting up, and checking their set list twice.
So the tip jar never has to ring twice. As the piano playing is the fixture from 5-9 p.m. on the four weekdays that are the busiest nights each week at the bar. (I will resort to being like Google when its sidebar lists a lingo of its “open” hours for the business at hand, as in the various venues featured, and say the obvious, hours may be different because of holidays).

It seems to me that in most cities of any size in my home state of, collectively, Minnesconsin, the means are in place where adequate food should be available to all residents — between food shelves, produce giveaways, church free dinners and the like.
Notice I said residents, as you usually will have to show some sort of ID or home address information that proves that you live in a school district or county. It is often the faith-based groups that use an honor system, and probably invite all comers anyway. But that didn’t help a woman with her situation that I’ll describe below.
In the breakout news item a bit below that, I’ll tell you how you can help.
And there are other barriers you might not see as readily, not just residency. You have to find way to get to the host site, and while there are many people, users and volunteers alike, who would give you a lift, few know just who the people are who are without transportation. Some volunteer leaders tell me they feel badly that in such a way the service might not be more fully used, and have even tried to ferret this out, but there is no good way in place. And such potential users might be too bashful to call and hitch a ride. Or I might add, especially if they are of simple means, drop the ball for arranging repeat trips. (Various agencies of local and county government could help out).
Also, the working poor often have more than one job, or work longer hours than usual, so they are frozen out of places that only operate during set hours — as often only in the business day — and that’s almost all. They too might be moonlighting and working late and can’t get to a church dinner, for example. Even that often extra bit of fellowship at such offerings can be a boost, especially at this time of year, as the volunteers are very keenly aware of the spiritual also being an earnest need for people.

— And we didn’t forget about the ugly sweaters and such for holiday contests, as you only have a week left, or could be seen as days less. But for starters, there is a Way Out With Justin Barts, and more musically, in the form of a customer appreciation party, in that near term and starting early. And then almost a week later, on the 23rd, is more with the official Christmas party. See the outfits maybe not fit for non-bar with some bad, good old boys at the Wild Badger, again on the 17th as a beginner. I will clear up this wintery mess of music in Picks Of The Week. As its all good. And largely the same … —

And of you are in the halftime of your shopping, the second season I’m to know, still check out the Vikings game at Ziggy’s today, hosted by Hudson’s one and only Dave Dahl, taking time away from his recently burdensome weather reports and the past Dibbo’s band excursions to offer you specials at one of the area’s only Viking friendly bars.

— So to get it straight, from above, at the Wild Badger its their 11th annual customer appreciation party on the 17th and the Christmas party on the 23rd. But there’s something in-between in the haus, (note the spelling), as I’m trying to keep up with my former colleague and now kinda competitor, the Star-Observer, with the one and only thing they do well as far as entertainment coverage. And I have to hand it to them, they are all over this one. (Is the reporter and editor, and they are one an the same, with the band?) That group is the popish and popular Yam Haus, and they’ve specialized in community-based concerts, knowing their roots, and is this how the HSO knows them? Thusly, they are putting on a holiday concert at the Hudson High School auditorium, on Sunday, the 18th, at 6 p.m. to benefit the battle against community hunger via the school backpack program, and yes empty stomachs even exist in Hudson. (For more on how you can help, see the rest of this post). But if you’ve already maxed out your holiday shopping budget … the concert cost is $20 and free for those under 12 (beneficiaries?) —

So it turns out I was a grinch twice. and Santa once. Here is how a couple of my experiences have gone with reaching out farther than usual to provide food, showing the delicate balances that make small cracks become bigger, and show how people can fall through them.
A young woman with a couple of children to look after, one very young, was separated earlier in 2022 from her husband or significant other, I don’t know the circumstances as I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell, and on her own had made her way from Central America to the Target parking lot in Hudson. She had a sign written on cardboard asking for help. I said I was not in a position to do anything monetarily, but that via the beauty of the local food shelf, I had some extra grub I could give her, just not on me. I took her first name and phone contact information and said I would make arrangements to get back to her with it, this same spot, different day. She told me when it was that she usually could be found at that location by the curb, but the times were slim and did not match well with anything I could make. So it was agreed I would call first.
That’s where things got difficult. Her accent was thick and meant the conveyance of time and day was difficult. That was also why I did not know much of her personal story, although I would have listened. I did catch that she knew only a few people in this country and that status brought her to Hudson, only to find out the assistance that was promised had dissolved. What else I got out of the call a time or two was that her car was broken down and she could not make it back to her dedicated space. So could I get an address and mail as much lightweight food as I found room for in a box?
The bottom line is that when I thought I had things arranged, the call revealed that she had made it to Florida, but not any more detail. So all I was able to do was wish her well.
I felt a little down about the idea that we were not able to make this work. And language difficulties. She could just as well fault me for not knowing Spanish, not even more than a few words beyond hello. How would I fair in parts of her home country?
A similar downfall of luck under largely similar circumstances, this time across to the south side of the freeway, with the parking lot being Denny’s. The woman again had little problem giving me her phone number but was not as good at answering it. By the time, this one the third, I made my way back, she had up and left her station. Her husband had found a job, she had told me at our initial foray back before they were abundant, so maybe their ship had come in, its oars better than the other woman’s car for reliability. The workers at Denny’s — I asked to see if I could salvage the situation — had noticed that after a couple of weeks of a fairly regular stint, she was no longer coming around. We all shared a bit of concern. I joked, badly, that I could leave the foodstuffs with them, and if she never showed again, hey they are a restaurant?!?
This last time the ending experience was more joyful. But it did give me a little advise to offer. The bus back to the home stomping grounds in Milwaukee had its usual lunch break in Tomah, and a man down on his dollars asked if I could buy him a burger. I said no but … Just new to getting EBT, I told him I’d buy dinner for him if the cost was kept in check. (I know you’re not supposed to, but it was Christmastime). Just make sure its not … uh oh. The burger and such was not covered, as it is warmly prepared, and I didn’t notice this as I was trying to be discreet for him. I suppose I could have nixed the transaction, but no bah humbug on this day. I was out $8.11 but I knew at home there would be a stocking stuffer to cover. So Merry Christmas!

So now we are going back into EBT territory. Especially with the odd blessing bestowed by the pandemic, low income people in Wisconsin and at least some other states, are getting much more loaded onto their cards in each month, but this is one-time and then another-time and it will eventually go the way of the passenger pigeon.
Which gives you an opportunity to do a Santa-like delivery, especially a lot of the offerings described above that would violate social distancing requirements have been curtailed — maybe more or less permanently. And EBT has a middle zone of income where only a partial number of dollars are extended.
That may be doable in a city, but what if you live out in the sticks, such as the northern areas of Minnesconsin, and there are no discount grocers anywhere near. And you have to travel to get to even a mom-and-pop store with their usual higher prices. One almost thinks that EBT could be on a sliding scale based in part on zip code, but even that would be problematic as far as recipients that — again — would fall through the cracks and the added layer of bureaucracy.
So how to help? Especially if you are traveling for the holiday? Bridge the gap by delivering some food to a — how should I say this — alternate zip code, far or not so far. And maybe not limit yourself to a food shelf there, as they in general are better stocked than the cupboards of the people they serve, as it is rare for most shelfs to actually run out, in large part because of drives that are run maybe even this time of year, if there is a relative shortage. Depending on the days you are on the road, and because so many places are closed right on a holiday — but wait there can be exceptions! — it might take a bit of time to reach out and make arrangements at the other end, whether the end run be directly or indirectly benefitted. But how about a church, or old colleague or distant relative, or maybe even local diner or bar.
Would not your bounty bring bliss to both you and them?