We focus on all things colorful this holiday, and not just people’s language, as Black Friday yields to other shopping days, and every one leads you closer to its last. (Sorry to the original rock band, and they are not carolers).
But again music shines the way. Even if it is interrupted for 10 minutes. Again, a few choice words.
The Smilin’ Moose had a frown because its DJ dancing was disrupted when, as I read it, its hot dancers led to a hot spot in the ceiling that caught fire! People were being turned away temporarily at the door, but I was left through (either because I was just one person in my party, or since a doorman has been calling me Pimp Juice, which he explained is the focus of a song by Nelly and is a good thing). That half of the venue that features people strutting their stuff — a bachelor-party’s worth had just vacated the building — was empty but for a couple of men using a ladder to put a great big panel back in place, and security guards busily scrambling this way and that. So kudos for them getting the situation handled, and for the patrons to avoid the dance floor and stick to the bar-rail side. Its a toiugh life. Good thing the lower patio has been closed down for the winter.
Two places in my extended neighborhood have swirling bunnies or other quasi-Christmas creatures, on their garage doors, led by one small floodlight that in one fell swoop has everything from light pink to Deep Purple. A third has been added this season, and the existing ones may have been blighted by snow. This is an annual affair, and the number of those in the display seems quite a bit more than usual. Up the way again, there are strings of lighted decorative figures as many as the number of reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh. They are strobe-light style. So on dancer and prancer and flasher? (In a good way). Down the way, a single bulb emits the same rotating color scheme, onto a decked out mailbox, and in the middle of all this is a light being shined on a pole-sitting birdhouse of all things, that has replaced a mailbox, and the Postal Service has a warrant out (just kidding).
A far-flung neighbor has photographed in her yard a pink squirrel — and not the cocktail although we suspect she might have had one — but food coloring not included, and so the white ones not so funky. And we take it a third way, and suggest a Grey Goose as a great holiday gift that smacks of a buddy’s favorite (clear) vodka, or gray duck or should I say a white duck. For a stocking stuffer, combine the four colors, two times around, and you might win the lottery (it’s the season and they’ll share), with as a bonus holiday scenery (in Minnesota), and a finally arriving ode to ugly sweater contests (on both sides of the river at Kwik Trip), and you’ll find these scratch games just the ticket.
Peek-a-boo! One the corner leading to the North Hudson industrial park, watching all the people go by, is a big red Santa who is spying with one red eye because the other side of his face and body were blocked from view by the corner of a reddish house.
The glove(s) found, two times, lying in the snowy street — Michael Jackson style and notably OJ small — and Christmas tree lights and even the spiral notebooks one online mom wanted to have so desperately for her kids for school, and not just Christmas pageants, had one thing in common — they came in the colors or red, white and blue, all three having one of those three colors missing. (And not always the same one, and its gets more muddled when we throw lime green into the mix.)
It was traveling trillions of miles, or a like number of light years, and thus many millions of passengers, who were screened to allow them to get on a near record number of holiday flights. And billions of unsalted peanuts, served over a career of that (one?) flight attendant? And two more to unshell them?
In a TV commercial, the man loading the groceries into the trunk of a car wore a face mask, but not the driver. And the product for the ad? We’re guessing they sell half-and-half masks.
Just in time for the 16 inches of snow we just got, there was a news alert that went out that for some people, in some areas, with certain kinds of service, and certain styles of oven, with a certain kinds of kitchen flooring, and cleaned and sanitized and disinfected with a certain kind of mop … they may be without holiday power. Could that result in undercooked turkey or ham, and bigger problems?
It did lead to carefully defined paths that revealed sidewalk, much like you typically see in the Upper Peninsula come January. They also could abruptly segue into sheer piles of snow that received no such treatment at all. And that pirate ship in the yard from back on Halloween had no oars in its water at all, as no snow had melted. A house down the way, come just short of 1 a.m., had pulled the plug on its holiday lighted decor, but others left the Christmas lights on their front porch all night long.
This is a fitting name for a holiday concert, even though its rock, since it you rearrange the letters you almost get “Xmas.” Yam Haus plays The Palace in St. Paul on Dec. 17. In the evening.
Another aisle of candy had been added for a previous holiday at Wal-Mart. They have rearranged the positioning of much of their inventory, but that does not necessarily mean its more consumer friendly, in a switcharoo that started during the heyday of the virus, to go more online with sales, which in the short term resulted in gaps where almost half an aisle of shelving was empty. This was even more true when the back-to-school and then-to-be-promised Black Friday and Xmas shopping rushes hit.
You thought those dryer sheets had outlasted their use, even if thrown in a second or third time with other older ones? Gift them to someone and let them deal with it. (And this is what caused a stir back a few years in Roberts, where the owner of a septic system cleaning company got called on the carpet for taking the stuff that is his stock and trade and spreading it on farm fields as fertilizer, and guess what else showed up by the hundreds! I wrote the story and it was by no means a “puff piece.” Sorry). So what to do? Cut up the frosty looking things and make them into snowflake-shaped decorations, rather than flushing them down the toidy. Later regift your creations, not recycle?
In this, the case of PJ and ugly sweater parties, onesies are not just the single lane during construction through downtown Hudson — which sometimes were changing gear, direction and access overnight (like seen on NYE, until the dawn lights the day) — but two-pieced as now, again, is the number of traffic lanes back through the boutique/antiques/bar district.
Saw an ad using a styrofoam (can I say that?) figurine to display women’s tops — a gift? — that now shows prevalently, twice, why its being posted in winter (again can I say that?) Get my drift?

Pro running back Adrian Peterson has often said he wants to keep playing in the National Football League.
Hey buddy can you spare a dime? Or More? And bill The Titans, who just released the aging star in perhaps, we hope, his last shot of staying on the playing field as a pro.
Could the need for prolonged longevity be that he could use some Mega Bucks? (For many, such an animal has been a sorta Wisconsin Death Trip). A writing from a few years ago mentioned that as far as net worth, Peterson is about $4 million underwater, a far higher number than the league minimum salary.
Enter Peterson trusting some people he should not have, when it comes to money, like so many athletes. Hey, minus the fame part, we’ve all been there — one more way he like us is lovable as a regular guy — but ours is not quite like this. Those of us who embrace homespun Scandawhovian values, another segue to being or backing a Viking, might run counter to those with Peterson’s lifestyle, But There Are Many Here Among Us, who would still love to share a beer with him. And impulsive Adrian has a history of showing he might offer an off-the-cuff chance to be in his posse, at least for a time. Various pictures of he and other local pros with their fans have spoken a thousand words to attest to this, posing by say, a wall full of trophies at a place like Tom Reid’s, as fame but not necessarily fortune do not mean they can’t spin some yarns with “us.”
So says Joe Montana. When the star QB attended a RF training camp when with KC, he hung out as long as he could until curfew at a handful of local sports bars. He eagered to engage numerous others in conversation, but not again, all about football, rather just regular guy stuff. Had he hit the local Kinni trout stream that is so prized? If you want to talk fishing, I guess that would be OK …
And that is the gist (cultivating this camaraderie through accessibility) of what this post is about. And why we hope that Peterson and his peers in various sports will be able to have a local quite public presence, even at the pub on occasion, for as long as possible. (A stark counterpoint to much of the New York scene, here more inclusive of a blue-collar vibe, not just the rich and famous). And it all starts with whether their financial shape allows them upkeep of a residence in more than one metro area, and then they can mingle as they may.
A guy I know is a lukewarm fan about the Vikings, when other teams beckon, but he is on par with “connecting” with AP, as he and others affectationately call him, missing his great rushes always straight upfield. So he tuned in the Titans and swore he saw in a commercial, AP portrayed in training by pulling with tethers a roaring heavy load. (He actually has, or had, this as a part of his hyper-diligent exercising routine, going up a hill to boot). Was there an immediate need for some cash, so this endorsement was necessary? Hhm, I wondered and the other guy lamented, seemingly hurt and disbelieving when told of the financial news about AP.
The topic came up before the cut at Starr’s Bar, which always has lots of people seated at the bar-rail, and mostly in two sections, the front and back, north and south, not sitting directly behind the tap dispenser. They shot some comments about his money problems back and forth, across what could be seen as an abyss, and were wondering as many of us were, how did it come to this? Then a guy at the nord-east corner of the bar framed it well. He said AP rented a camel for his son’s birthday party. If this is right, how does one, based here in Minnesconsin, obtain a camel? I’m sure the metro zoo charges a bunch and having it shipping in from Africa even more. And AP has more than one child. The theme is that AP seems to manage money and investments poorly when it comes to his generosity, spilled out onto “his people” — look at some of the dozens and dozens of tickets he would buy for key fans and other people in his life to attend games in places like Texas or even London, when he was primed to break a record. (Some of the recipients have strong Hudson ties). This is why so many in the region bear him in mind and hope he is out and about here, in the public eye and possibly even at the pub, regardless of his status on the playing field. Those seated in the stands also wish to see him seated on a bar stool, on occasion if only an in-and-out, and what might allow such association and bonding is housing status, and whether they have means to meet and greet when in the Twin Cities, and if they can support a second residence here.
So buddy, again, can you spare a dime? (OK you must get the decimal point right). Goods for Zach Parise, another aging local athlete gone elsewhere, can be had, on the theme of tens, for $10 online, and even things with a bit more oomph are available for $50, so a lucky fan can have a memorabilia-with-signature-type-thing on their special day.
Then there were lucky fans at Hudson Tap who pledged less for signed prints — of Parise and several other prominent (sports mainly) heroes from The Twin Cities (mostly) — when the large images of the larger than life were displayed just inside the foyer on three occasions as a fundraiser, but this good idea never really picked up speed. If only two or more of you have gathered (or arrived at separate times) to bid …
More had gathered at the Petersons. He moved out of his Eden Prairie house a few years ago to “make room for” — a theme here — “one lucky football fan,” a media report said. How is the guest room or two or three used? Does this wording imply that his 2002 house in the Sunnybrook neighborhood is available for him to crash if back in town? And if you follow Peterson, a doubtless sweet deal was ripe to be gained when the house became “largely expendable” because of a new team and/or location … or that’s what the listing noted. Not necessarily an all-out “sold” sign.
A company offering among other things high-end vehicle services sued the star running back several years ago, after Peterson had borrowed more than $5 million.
We’ve all been there — everyman and vulnerable — despite their fame but not necessarily fortune, but not with such high stakes and prices. Peterson apparently needed that loan to pay existing ones, as his dealings with money are not as good as those between the stripes. It is believed the veteran running back took out that loan to pay back other loans he received for investments that did not pan out. His attorney said there is more to the story that will come out in due time.

— “And it all starts with whether their financial shape allows them upkeep of a residence in more than one metro area, and then they can mingle locally as they may. What the most tightknit fans want to know” —

So don’t they say that sometimes you can tell a lot about a person by the house they keep? Peterson’s abode has been valued at well under $1 million, very nice but not up to par with those of two Twin Cities contemporaries.
Enter the mansions of Zach Parise and Ryan Suter, whose tenure with the Minnesota Wild ended in July, and the pair listed their Edina homes for a combined $7.29 million.
Back from 2019, a home belonging to Parise, complete with pucks on ice, went on the market for $4.7 million.
It sits on a 1.15 acre lot on Lake Minnetonka and covers 7,047-square-feet, so there’s not too much yard, but a bevy of lake views. Featured are two kitchens, a home movie theater … and ice rink … a dock. And we assure you that rink bests the ones hockey parents in the St. Croix Valley — having less than a quarter-court of space in terms of the basketball that’s another popular winter sport — have made through exacting flooding in their backyards.
Some of the homes in this article have, or still have, been on the market for a long time. Good for the fans, possibly although indirectly, but not players looking at relocating to places like New York, or Texas, Washington, Detroit, Tennessee … Maybe once a year on the road. Could it be their real estate agents are not journalists? With all the other amenities, do they really need to pad and be told they have walk-in closets? Wouldn’t you think that is just as obvious as, say, calling a pass play on third and 20, not giving the ball to Peterson? And noting that there is an enclosed patio and a deck, to provide other options to take in the view, uhm isn’t that just what they are supposed to do?
One bedroom also features a picturesque wall that “shows animals and trees.” Really? The zoo does that, along with camels, and they’re live. The presence of stone walls seems at least a bit more interesting.
Suter, a Madison native become Wild star, had been selling his 120-acre estate in Mazomanie, in rural Dane County, for $4.5 million. Both he and Parise had been in the midst of 13-year, $98 million contracts signed with the Wild in 2012.
The home, built in 2011, spans 12,000 square feet and includes an even dozen — like Parise’s — when it comes to bedrooms and bathrooms, a movie theater, tennis courts, swimming pool, wine cellar, exercise room, pub/billiards room … and an outdoor kitchen.
The “gated residence,” aren’t they all, is a little less impressive after you come in through the front door. Inside are a winding staircase encased by brick walls … The great room (aren’t they all?) features a two-story fireplace and (an elaborate) chef’s kitchen complete with breakfast bar. The master suite includes … lotsa.
Milwaukee-based Mahler Sotheby’s International Realty had the listing. Wasn’t that also part of that big London firm?
As for his star power, with Suter also got it rolling with his father, starting in college, playing one season at that hockey-hotbed, the University of Wisconsin-Madison. His late father, Bob, won the gold medal with the U.S. men’s hockey team at the 1980 Winter Olympics.

— “They were at the XCel Energy Center game; his wife Alisha and their three children haven’t permanently moved to New York, but they’ve visited Parise. That local presence (via housing status) is good news for Wild fans wanting to mingle, especially in an inner-circle, wide as that may be.” —

For an example, the list of Minnesota’s highest-paid professional athletes, ranked by annual salary, also includes passment of judgment on the state’s most overpaid and underpaid athletes, circa 2018. Here is the ranking, and some of it might be telling — and surprising: Cousins, Kirk, $26 million; Wiggins, Andrew, $25.25 million; Mauer, Joe, $23 million. For sake of comparison, Parise’s total net worth in a fairly recent analysis, although not bad, was the equivalent of just a few months pay for those guys, according to an analysis a couple of years back. It reportedly has gotten further ahead since then.
You can tell that sometimes its not what you make, but how much you make out of it. The homes in Minnesota would seem not nearly as opulent as the one in Wisconsin, and housing prices there, by supply and demand could dictate a difference in value. Such things would seem to indicate a need for a bit more dough. Or on the flipside of the same, a need to sell fast.
Parise, who ranks third in Wild history in goals (199) and points (400) and seventh in games played (558), added another notch in his overall case last month. This was Parise’s first gig to play in front of Wild fans since crowd restrictions were lifted for the current campaign, a reunion Parise was excited to have. Here are some of the superlatives from a quote at that time, when the scoreboard lit up in many colors, not just those of the team, when he was introduced. It uses the F word, that being “fan,” three times. Three letters to spell it not four: “Such a good fan base here,” and “loyal fans,” and “a fan base that has always been great to me and my family.” They were at the XCel Energy Center game; his wife Alisha and their three children haven’t permanently moved to New York, but they’ve visited Parise. That local presence (via housing status) is good news for Wild fans, especially in an inner-circle, wide as that may be.
Whether playing hockey or football, they are after all, and broadly speaking, Our People. Many of you will know what I mean.
Despite well-publicized attempts to have their playing and training grounds close to their storied residences, they are known to have lingered and mingled amongst their fan bases, at venues found close to the arena and stadium, after the final whistle blew, not to mention their presence at many community functions. These are the situations that mean the average Tom, Dick and Harry have a vested interest — just a relevant as the high-powered decisions recently made — since it effects the way they basically place the pros among the populace, as far as where they live and dare I say it, love.

Could the second virus resurgence, or more, be keeping “men who hath understanding” out of their favorite watering holes again? One night mostly on, then three off.
Could the proverbial Busiest Bar Night Of The Year, now still keep a legacy of force, but be moved elsewhere in the year’s top 10 of eves as fast as a college football team that misses a few too many field goals?
The skinny: That Wednesday night was busy but nothing to keep too many of you from being late for mom’s trademark turkey come the opening whistle of Thanksgiving football, The holiday eve was a total turkey as far as attendance with the possible exception of a few people shooting pool at Hudson Tap and throwing darts at Dick’s Bar, and the weekend was very lifeless and nowhere near shoulder to shoulder but for The Smilin’ Moose and Agave Kitchen.
Here’s a blow by blow of the beer by beer.

— But first in Uncatagorized, the patron face from about a year ago, when who was where first became a topic —

After giving thanks for tips, Da Man was taking garbage out to the dumpster just before midnight on the holiday, as the music club was closed — both upper and lower levels, at the Hudson Ziggy’s. But what about that usually infamous night before: “It was decent.”
Ditto and more at Hudson Tap. “Pretty crazy. This is the second biggest bar night of the year.”
But were all the out-of-towners back in? Yeah, the bartender said, but with a shrug. This could be read that The Tap now has a whole new series of townies, to use a term, exclusive mostly to them. The old-school stalwarts mostly go elsewhere in town.
And of course, at Dick’s, via a longtime bouncer. “Pretty busy. It’s another night.” That commentary was given on a very slow Thursday, concerning Wednesday.
Again, underwhelming? As it was a ghost town there, again, on later nights. And in particular, on Saturday, The Smilin’ Moose was the only venue with any people, and even they were at a bit less than their usual capacity in situations such as this.
What did the doorman say at Ziggy’s, you know the one positioned between the downstairs bar-rail (free admission) and the upper-level club (cover charge of at least $5). Not on this slow weekend band night. Hey I’ll let you go up for free. Seriously. Are you sure you won’t? Maybe ask the security guy taking IDs, you know the one dressed up like a ninja over Halloween?
But this was later and colder. No matter.
You know they are Twin Citians by … their navels? And the fact that locals, by day, at least had on a T-shirt, OK with collar, and real short-shorts. But by midnight, you could see ones such as thus: A basically bisected navel and nothing but skin going upward to the sports bra. And no jacket, leather or otherwise, to speak of while moving northward. That has led on such occasions to the warmth of a stogie and things that follow taking full force, rather than the weather, as guys could be seen puffing away on chairs set-up outside the sidewalk by Hudson Cigar, simply taking it all in.
On Thanksgiving, typically an operative night, The Smilin’ Moose door sign said open until close, but it was shut down at the point where one day turned into another. And the Starr’s Bar door sign, over in North Hudson, announced early in their typical holiday fashion that they would be done for the day, as they never opened. The only sign on the door of The Mallalieu Inn was the back of a guest check receipt, fittingly, and the only heads up it yielded is that once it reopened the next day, this was a cash-only bar. (For more on the mayhem of hours, view the Where Did You See It department).
The Tap was there for that and more, as it had its front door open a crack, as if to beckon, late on multiple nights.
Apparently some places, though checkered, did not beckon enough, as BWW was about as packed as it gets these days for the the Gopher-Badger game, until I got the ax — OK my ride had arrived. He later said that it was much the same downtown for Packer football, on a different day. But as we left we saw a single pine tree on an SUV roof, and there would be none other in All The Adjoining As Close As Hudson Gets To Big Box Stores Parking Lots.
A take on why all this is …
Becoming passive about going out might be with us again.
Online articles indicate that those “pros” who are very socially adept at interaction at bars, and believe it or not suffer no fools, can be a bit less tolerant of things as they now are — especially since the new situation finds even the best of those social high-climbers rusty at the game. It may even be at a subconscious level, where the last-minute situation to actually get out the door is, to use a word, impaired. Or regulars are very picky about when they will or will not go out. They thus can be more easily be sidetracked even on the primo nights of the year.
Even when things do open again, one fulfilling night may lead into a decision not to go out on the next two — thwarting one of those few times a year when you normally would be looking forward to seeing all those people you normally might not. Or just hit the one hot spot of the moment, even if that flies in the face of social distancing, and not roam elsewhere after that.

We give thanks for getting the basics of the base laid, starting long ago, and now allowing the demise of the historic Hudson detour, that nearly brought historic Hudson to its knees. But in the long haul, even moreso, moving traffic will triumph.
From chaos and confusion comes wisdom and order. At least we now have those very helpful turn-only lanes, lots of them, and barrier medians and bump-outs in all the right places, although you could say it is overkill, (but no deaths or even serious injuries as we think safety was served). Was it worth the wait? Now all that’s left to do, mainly, is replant and replace large squatches of grass, some newly formed. Where there in at least one place had been barbs of branches to disrupt your step, after a storm made things worse.
Months back, when the only sign of the chaos to come was a few barriers setting on the side of the street, a local police officer was asked by a late-night clerk about what else would happen soon. The officer didn’t appear to have much information, except that the stretch in question would be long, and the clerk’s next question was more telling: How will the Minnesotans know? Again, a sorta I dunno.
Word on the street was along this idea: Get it all done before the summer tourism season, which by virtually all accounts was ruined. (One of the local antique shops said to this fine publication and a request for advertising, come back to us when the streets again have names, or such an idea). Another word cannot be printed, that being the effect on the bar scene. That word was that the city fathers were giving a big middle finger to beer drinkers and occasional hell raisers. And the business owners themselves banded into a loosely known group whey called Sustain Hudson, which picked up early strength in North Hudson with small signs here, there and eventually everywhere at intersections, and quickly spread southward.
Those same city fathers needed to come back before the public and ask for more money for the project, come summer. The need for reworkings was more than they thought. My nephew who works in the industry framed it this way: Drawings for the layouts of what is under the streets were not done until the 1930s, well before some of these streets were laid, so exact locations of where was what, and the mayhem to fix such things, was a crap shoot at the start.
But everyone should have known better.
Local officials promised there would be a sidewalk open all the way through the stretches of road under construction. That was true, basically, but this was ready for a bit of rubble, and long streaks of simply sand were present.
At one point, I was nearly emasculated by a big stick — a different one — but let me assure you, there are no issues there. Just ask my wife, uhm, ex-wife, uhm, maybe not such a good idea for a truly full-throttle, wholehearted endorsement …
If you were one of the brave few who would try to walk from Hudson to North Hudson, you’d really have to watch your step in places, and making this especially risky late at night was the checkered effectiveness of streetlights. Most of the time these did the job, but there were stretches where they were lacking. A complaint many have had about such situations for a few years is that the new LED lights did not always have range or brightness; but you could take a chance traipsing from the corner by the bridge across to the corner where you could walk to the Mallalieu Inn.
On the sidewalk on the west side of the bridge, there were a couple of places where segments of cable, pieces of other loose metal, and other riff-raff that were basically junk, that you would have to step around. Stretches of newly laid concrete ended abruptly, sometimes with scant signage, and then all that was a few inches down was sand.
The number of people driving the between village and city after midnight was, for obvious reasons, stepped down, but those would did go often were from out-of-state and in many cases really revved it up, with speed and engine roar that is unnecessary, especially under the conditions.
But now that all is said and done, things are better for the waiting.
On the corner of Locust and Second streets, for example, there are now bumps-outs at all four corners, making it attractive for people attending The Moose. It wan’t always that smiley there, as the entryway during earlier construction was accessible, but again, be careful about your step and take care not to waiver sideways.
While the front door to Ziggy’s was pushed into disuse for a while, with dug up sidewalk everywhere, it now has bump-outs just to the south, and also to the southwest if you look across the street, being of benefit to everyone, whether behind the wheel or possibly behind the intoxication eight-ball. And over by the DQ, they were not disqualified from such treatment, as the reconstruction patterns played out the same.
Down where children often cross, from more than one school, the flags-waving workers are now aided by similar treatment, and even a pair of medians about a yard in width — although far from the schoolyards — make things safer, although a bit unusual looking. Big signs atop big poles announce their presence.
All through it, sidewalks that once were sandy now also are wider, in some cases with their width doubled from adding onto existing concrete. Stone walls also are reinforced at the bottom, in a couple of cases with cement running up their creviced edges.
One time around when the traffic was backed up further than usual, in near the heart of the village, there was a kid on his bike and carrying a fishing pole joining the cars in line, as the lake was still a couple of blocks away.
Around the bend, a sign asked that people be polite, a tall order under the circumstances, and not block a driveway when waiting for the light to turn green. Most people seemed to comply.
Around the main bend, it was hard not to notice the big culverts that had been removed, since they had big crumbled edges and small streaks of what looked like rust, even though underneath was concrete not metal.
Next to the boat landing, — where parking is now set in an orderly aquare — were more big hunks of concrete the size and shape of a port-a-potty, and two were labeled A1, as it is not the sauce that was at stake, rather getting that last segment done quickly before the snow would fly
So, it is not surprising that many drivers and even their passengers, would notice the two places where the construction version of a pothole had formed, doing a number they feared on their tires. No matter how they would slow their speed, complaints were aired — even if one case to a police officer serving as a flagman, motioning for a driver to speed it up a couple of notches through the area and let traffic move better.
In the last few weeks before the project was finally finished, there appeared to be a rush put on things to get them done before snowstorm time of year. Large slabs of concrete were laid much faster, and before some people knew it, all that was left of the project was a whole line of orange cones along the middle stripe — and then taken down the next day. It isn’t easy to say why this pace didn’t occur with such urgency much sooner, and when drivers had waits of several minutes and more than one red-to-green transition before getting through, it was apparent that the lights were not synced for time of day, and rather were one size of time fits all hours. For a bit early, flagmen helped move things faster, but in fairness it seems the necessary syncing would have been very costly and elaborate.
So people passed the time listening to much of album sides on the radio, debating for how long to turn off the keys rather than having the engine idle and harmed, lamenting the forays into the ditch that at least one driver had while negotating the Trout Brook Road detour, and just generally complaining.
After being out-of-town for a few days, I had wondered way back in August if the bridge was open, and a man downtown said it was — but failed to mention it was just one lane. Those walking past by the drug store had to pace single-file, maybe on a six-inch strip connected to the brick building, and one appeared to be giving a whole new meaning to David Lee Roth and “got her toes in the sand” where there once was sidewalk. Well sung.

You don’t have to be a dear hunter’s widow at T-Buckets Hometown Bar on Wednesday night, Nov 24, but it helps.
There is $50 bar tab for best jammie or onesie — as not everything needs to be skimpy lingerie — at midnight, not to mention $2 shots of Fireball and snacks before, during and after. Bring a toy donation for added important considerations, for both them and you, as there are even more special deals to be found. It all starts at 8 O’Clock.
So the Nextdoor bar and grill is not the only such option for such people for that day and those that follow, if you are heading into Houlton and towards Somerset. Maybe take in both!
On the southern musical horizon, Distilled is back in town again, as is Hitchville, on back-to-back nights starting on Friday.

— News break: Be sure to see, when it is still published in this weekend of thanks, my many ruminations of the detour that was more than a mere dogleg, and how it effected both daily life and nightlife … shovel by shovel …–

This time it is, for both nights, at the GasLite in Ellsworth. And if the music isn’t enough in itself, there is definite eye candy appeal.
Distilled boasts “raven wavy hair and ruby lips” in one of its leading ladies, and the other is someone with the counterpoint and shorter blonde locks — for variety sake — that I swear I have seen online. And then there is that guy with a black top hat worthy of another guitarist, Slash, hoisting a bottle of what could be a namesake liquor. And so on, with the other three members of the band.
As for Hitchville, the two young and beautiful “country” people shown online could be right out of TV shows known for their glamour and glitz — in particular the guy in his twenties who looks like an actor on one of the CSI series.
But there is just as much substance as style, so again, check them both out.
And lastly, as nothing is more Wisconsin than Kwik Trip, they point out that the holidays here are all about beer, and scores of such specials abound all the way through the holiday, mostly on the good stuff. Where else could Miller and Coors share the same playing field?

A doublewide garage door needed some mid-day, mid-November dressing up for the holidays up-top, from one end to the other, as a North Hudson man went down to the last bulb in getting a string of lights up and now-fully in place, up and down the pipe of where the downspout dangled.
As he retired from his ladder, and down on the last step, he was asked if that final bulb — fulfilling most of the colors of the rainbow as a precursor to up and down Packer-Viking football in just days, with a win much more pressing for one team than the other — made all the difference in decorating, with it still a full 40 days before Christmas.
The response of this trendsetter and man for all seasons, one of the first to brave the new cold and get the holiday flare up there, was a combo of “yeah” and “ugh.”
So it goes, a mixture of emotions, in the early times of the season(s).
A few wooded lots down, an acquaintance of mine who was raking the various shades of oak leaves from the yard, reminded to do what’s most vital first. This is the time to fix that (Christmas?) mouse problem is before it starts – and that’s before the snow flies, and before you deck out your house and the halls for the holidays, as the vermin might try to show up for moral support if you do the typical Griswold holiday thing, and that finds you ending up Home Alone when they see you — that being the missus and the kids — and what are you going to do with that ladder in your hand? Because the rodents are collectively Modest Mouse and can be tamed with traps that are aside from fooling that turdy-point buck, like the Taming of a Shrew, so get it on right now as much as prematurely calling forward the holidays with erection of your silver bells.
Whew, only HudsonWiNightlife can throw that many cultural and musical musical references into two run-on sentences. But we hope the tip value in your memory remains, as we are heading into the typically most popular time for getting your roof and yard looking shipshape, (reference a couple of previous posts), as there can be a counter purpose to Black Friday (and Menards) since sales are up, but at the same time availability via the shipping lanes is down.
That latter point has Santa doing what all good world citizens do, and outscouring ways to do outsourcing of production and delivery, even if it is in violation of the labor agreement with the elves, see Randy Newman and his Short People song — but not the one with the better unionized reindeer as a special and vulnerable population, allowing Rudolph to take paternity leave and thus bolster the ranks of this endangered species. Having twins with Cupid?
So people are going above and beyond in some cases with decorating that didn’t wait unlike the middle of the extended Thanksgiving weekend, such as my neighbor actually getting out a cherry picker he rented (I assume). So take that, oh ye library that will not reopen from storm damage, mainly to the carpet, until 2022, and woe be to ye who before that want to read up on the storm of 2021. And up the block, there was an extended SUV with tailgate open that backed up through the front yard and the middle yard all the way to the back yard. Then out whipping back to the front and the driveway.
But of course there also is, simultaneously, The Biggest Bar Night Of The Known World And Limo Bus To The Outerlying Planets Pub Crawl. A precursor was the inch or two of snow for the first fall, and the visitor/partier who muddled through it, and we have it on good authority not from Minnesota or even Iowa. Why? Her words as she climbed the few steps into the Smilin’ Moose: “I’ve only see this much snow three times in my life.” We assume that’s once every seven years.
That’s about how often you see a verdict coming forward about a style of hockey glove. If its (colors) don’t fit, you must acquit. That was the national news made when Zach Parise sported the wrong but new colors when stickhandling, and doing it well, at a skate-around of the New York Islanders, virtually announcing his new team of choice with nary a press conference, and more colors in the form of a jersey displayed. (More down the — blue — line later about mansion listings for he and Ryan Suter).
On a much more serious note, the trial of the century, or such, in Kenosha, found the vigilante killer not guilty of all counts. All during final arguments, a man I know with Tourette Syndrome vocalizations kept uttering, with his echolalia, the semi-nonsense phrase, Rittenhouse mouse, in the house? Maybe to make up the difference in frequency of use, as spell check does not register that symptom-based term.
(And from a likeminded person, Happy Covid upcoming). Yes these could be found offensive, or is there some sage satire I’m missing? Anyway, my mom phoned her grandson and told him to get the heck out of Racine, even if one city over, as soon as his work shift was over.

They can now come to your door. So you, in turn, should go to theirs, through the beauty of “sign” language. And this is not just Door Dash. So this is how you can make the most of street detour experience.
Maybe it is time for a Big Ol’ Broadway Neon Sign, on how to make amends with the road through putting out a welcome mat that is knockdown, drag out — or wait that could be the detour itself — and make this travel one great big happy hour.
Let me explain: The latest sending-of-traffic-a-different direction, has it filtering right past Starr’s Bar in North Hudson, for them turning a bad thing into a good thing for customer access. But how to market it? Try a great big glowing sign that begets that of The Village Inn, which begets the latest such thing, that of Exit 1 Fireworks.
Area bartenders said the effect on their traffic has been shown in up and down streaks.
Over at the Mallalieu Inn, the other bar at the south end of North Hudson, where there are very slow times, it might be just the ticket to bring in an added customer base, making up in part for what was missed at the fall motorcycle rally. This shows promise for a different type of vehicle Knocking At Their Front Door, with those having twice as many wheels, generally, flooding past.
When cars began to also be directed back eastward, past the old Season’s Tavern, early in the week, it was just in time since two blocks to the north there were more than a dozen cars parked along the west side of Fourth Street North, en masse due to what seemed to be new blacktopping on the lots of adjacent apartments.
There were fewer of the “no parking temporarily” placards to be seen just a foot or two away from the curb, but the ones saying something like “drive like your kids and pets play here” (a composite) were still prevalent.
A new sign: The flashing this-is-your-mph display was about halfway between the two places you turn at 90 degrees, and at least one Minnesotan I saw pushed it to 34 mph. My walking was at one-quarter that speed, as eight is enough, and I was curious if it would read me if I paced by diagonally. No takers in orange bulbs.
Those in these and other colors were up and around and about, however, with a specialty being wrapped tree trunks.
One in the neighborhood, in the evening, was only there until just after dusk with its light. Across the street, all that could be seen in the eventual pitch blackness were the flashes of bulbs on strings as they swung to and fro, then up.
But the queen of orange, and I suppose king too, are pumpkins all around people’s doorsteps, with no holes for eyes and nostrils, as that was an earlier season. They could be part of a theme of — can’t say it as blackface — but rather the occasional orangeface of my favorite Tap bartender when she goes on a tanning roll, (or toll so to speak, but really no), to go with her ever changing hair. Great looks all, including Roxy.
On the flip side of the village proper with detour dealings, The Village Inn broke from form for them and took out a big ad flyer in one of the mailers you often see. However, the specials it hawked — showing a cartoon car that is bumped up to a construction-barrier-boarded-horse that is complete with the detour unusuality of erect stop signs and yes two bumped down cones — were not that special as far as value. Not quite the promised way to beat construction fatigue, although you still gotta love their pizza special, usually on Saturdays, of a large for the price of a small.
Across the street at Village Liquor, the sign that said customers could reach their place through the back alley now pitches of all things a bourbon raffle — now that’s got the good ‘ol lottery beat by a landslide.
And Exit 1 Fireworks had a small and low-height sign next to a similar one for BOH Electronics, both sitting at the corner of Fourth and Sommers and directing customers on how to negotiate the detour and get to their place. One could have its advantage by traveling east and the other south. And but wait, there is another sign, electronic and flashing of neon, that highlights North Hudson’s Original Fireworks Shop. It says their deals will blow your mind, highlighted by an odd but not quite crazy-looking man with wild hair, and has a Hiroshima-like cloud shooting upward as any good display of fireworks would. As in you would have to be Einstein the figure out the Wisconsin vs. Minnesota fireworks laws?
Up the block, a sign of the times asked that we “stop gerrymandering” — and these days more than ever you are likely to be familiar with the term — with the recommendations of a “Fairmaps” group. (Or is that facemask, but that now would be another mandate). And up the block again, there is a sign that asks to “end the mandate,” showing for emphasis an upside-down needle that actually looks like a beer bottle you might have finished off.

This agate-and-more store will keep you gaping, and not leave a gaping hole in your wallet.
The family owned and operated Reagan’s Rocks shop — dad and daughter — has many kinds of agates and quartz, minerals and gems — but doesn’t stop there, scouring the globe to give something a bit different to downtown Hudson’s east side of Second Street. There are dozens of other types of crystals and stones of all sizes on its rows of shelves, many with thorough written descriptions of their powers to heal, nurture and transform.
Some of the favorites are on a circular display in the middle of the store, and the omnipresent patriarch Curtis is always there to greet you on the far side, after patrons have roamed through the rest of the place. And they will buy many of your own agates, too.
Among the faves are black tourmaline, with dozens of them currently housed in a big, decorative backet and costing only $3 each, and Rainbow Iris agate from Indonesia, as Reagan’s goes worldwide.
They are open Wednesdays through Sundays.

This coulda been. Or maybe it was, as the season-long promising Brewers are from Milwaukee, just like — originally — the coming-on-late Braves that proved to be the actual World Series champions for the first time in decades, but now hailing from Atlanta.
This irony was not lost on a buddy of mine, a Braves fan himself but longtime Wisconsinite who screamed out the following: “You had a part in this.” He said this with just just two chops, or outs, left in that last decisive game, then added he went down “there” to Georgia (looking for a base to steal) just once for an Atlanta contest, decades ago, on a fan’s mission — only to have Hammerin’ Hank remain seated in the dugout the entire game, but at least he managed to get a visual, if not at home plate itself.
My luck, as luck often has it, was better. I only saw Aaron once, back at the old County Stadium and he hit a screaming homer to left that I swear never reached a height of much more than a basketball hoop, and here I go again with a Bucks reference.
But speaking of home runs, I was on hand late in summer for one of the most memorable you will ever find … sort of. And it came after a game so chock full of blunders and missteps and poorly played infield hits that people started leaving right after the Seventh Inning Stretch. They would likely be in the car for a walk off to top all walk offs. This resonates with my crew, as we held out until The Ninth, but then there was a fateful decision, and we are not talking merely a win-loss for the starting pitcher, as he was long gone from the game.
We also up and left. We didn’t want to see another outfielder trip and fall and hurt his knee while the play was being made 100 feet away and uncontested. Or let a dribbler from a bat that trickled down the third base line and was left to go foul but ended up out in left field for a double. Or a propensity to be high in the strike zone by multiple pitchers including our ace. The result was fittingly on the theme of Bobblehead Day featuring another star outfielder, by name of Braun, a scant Brewer lead going into the middle innings. There was not as foul ball all the way through the first two and the game was rolling right along. That was soon to change …
The pace slowed considerably and was chock full of 3-2 counts and fouls that were not fly balls with a chance of reaching the fence.The Brew Crew now trailled and after a couple more innings that were less then noteworthy, it was D-Day and two of the new Harvey’s Wallbangers were coming up in the eighth. The bases were full when Rowdy came a calling, a hitter made for situations like this. Alas, on slider low and inside, he fanned in front of the chagrined hometown fans. That left it up to the former MVP Christian Yelich — who is kinda and sorta known to my family and all will be revealed in a later post — and boy did he come through … Well sorta.
Batting lefthanded, he delivered a rocket that would have gone to the fence for a three RBI at-bat to send the game to extra-innings, but the Cardinal first baseman speared it while leaping toward the line and it snowconed for a third out. That was in the bottom of the eighth.
Should We Stay Or Should We Go? The dominant voice among mixed reviews was to head on out, as the game would take five hours upon conclusion and my nephew had to be somewhere. It would be fitting that out in the parking lot was seen, for the second time that day, an old body chalk line or two in the midst of the tailgating.
Talk was aplenty among us about things like the new presence of the term quality at-bat, determined in large part by the length you milk the count and partly responsible for longer games like this one. Being in Cheesehead country, you’d think it to be more than an eventual single.
But there were more than one of those, again filling the bases. We started second-guessing ourselves, crisscrossing closer to my parent’s house, where we were stopping before my brothers. As we were only blocks away, talk briefly turned to the cool new name for a tattoo shop and the best grub at a pub. Second-guessing took a third try. And my nephew was being implicated more and more as we drew closer.
At the short driveway, we hustled in and dad had the game on. He had not gone with us. People took turns quickly using the bathroom. I had noticed more of a hubbub as I exited, and was a first-down’s away from the television when indeed IT HAPPENED. My dad squirmed in his easy chair and the call was made by my brother, from right behind him, who could have been Bob Uecker himself: Game-Winning Home Run! And we could have been there. At least we saw it on TV, not having to settle for a car radio, like some others.
Mom made sure we were each supplied a brat or two, to grieve? Reminisce? Or simply process the events of the now-spent afternoon.
It least it wasn’t when Hank Aaron rode the bench.

As a theme this Halloween was house parties, it was something wicked this way comes up and down the detour, as if that was not scary enough.
People often chose to walk either from the downtown if starting early in costume, or from as far as North Hudson to get to the mongo bash on Second Street, nearer the main city then the village. It even attracted a moderate-length limo, whose driver waited curbside with baited breath while dropping off comely clients, and when asked if this was the big deal for the evening, smiled and nodded with chin slightly up.
The lady of the house of the evening, greeted guests in a gently filled doorway, and the fact that they were such — and I must say thirty-something and very classy — beautiful people showed this was the party in demand that night. One such good witch coming on down the way of the sidewalk –where there was little else — when asked if her destination was obvious, said this: “Take one guess.”
Back behind the limo driver, someone walking toward their sedan said that the minions, the full-size ones, were coming with him.
Just past midnight, most of the folk were strolling downtown to partake in other ghoulish goings-on, and was said to me, as I was heading northward, by a woman with a pair of flashlights on her chest, As She Lit Up A Candle And Showed Me The Way … “you’re going the wrong direction!”
Back at a backyard outing that had been going strong in North Hudson, there was not much Livin’ After Midnight.
But there definitely was at costume contests under Big City Lights.
The costumes that were naughty and bawdy and nice were way over the top, going to new lengths in creativity and out-there-ness. Enuf said about that, with this exception as a summary of what was the most prevalent, and not much seen in prior years: The (appearance of) multiply stitched together lips, especially in female (and she-male?) zombies.
Oh, three other notables: (1) A shark-head actually on the top of someone’s scalp, flared out almost a foot with big teeth front and back in true Jaws-like style, and something looking like either a great big tongue or caught fish about by the forehead. Ghastly! (2) An astronaut/alien, but no Ziggy Stardust, with a globe-head big enough to befit Neil Armstrong (sorry!) that was all allow with green color when flashing so you could see a skeletal face! (3) The proverbial and very prolifically prize-winning Eve/Irish hair/Lady Godiva (move over Lady Gaga), who I greeted with a “Same costume. Great look.” To my surprise came this adamant Addams response, “It is NOT the same costume!”
In North Hudson, trick-or-treating traffic was late and light, although those who did show were even more polite then ever, by all accounts. New this year were three things: A truck pulling a trailer-load of trick-or-treaters way in back, a just-in-time newer detour route over to the city itself that was if anything less bumpy, and a noticeable lighter police presence handing out there usual glow-sticks. Ugh, as that has always been popular. The last two might have something to do with each other.
Don’t know if there was any response to the inquiry to the online neighborhood, for a little help from friends in low places, to establish another pirate ship in the front yard (also don’t know if this is a copycat from the one on the Main Drag, Johnnie Depp). I do know there is/was a big display with a similar skull and crossbones theme over on Third Street.
Not long before seeing that, I saw a Still Runnin’ ad for the Addams Family2 movie, right after flipping through channels and briefly viewing the TV show itself, shortly after hearing the theme song on my way home.
And while there, back to trick-or-treating, here were what I consider the three top quips.
(1) A small child said about my (back to the story’s beginning) Something Wicked This Way Comes warble, “His voice sounds way too high and funny,” to which came the reply, “I only sound this way once year. Otherwise its very low (like Morticia).”
(2) “These are cool big candy bars.” Got them at Family Fresh. Blatant plug from a previous post. “My grandfather owned the Hershey’s Company. My great-great-great-great-great grandfather.” Now dead. Or undead?
(3) A third child couldn’t stop staring at the feet of my pirate — leaning against the wall and positioned at his head level. “He’s standing on his head just for you!”
But that’s it for now. Got to go eat my supper of Chicken Afraido and Muenster Cheese.

Well done, I am in more ways then one, since my blood sausage thusly, for dessert, is no longer medium-rare. So now looking ahead to a weekend of just music, without costume contests:
The band Distilled — do not be Disturbed — but hey, by any name they won’t diss their fans, as they come a distance to play the Willow River Saloon in Burkhardt on Friday, Nov. 5.
This too is about a name. Drink 182 is all about the ’90s, which you don’t often see, and they show their grunge physically and musically at Ziggy’s on Saturday night.
Its all around the Upper-Midwest-named-band-acts, city and state, at the Treasure Island Event Center. If you missed Chicago the night before Halloween, you can still catch Kansas on Nov. 12. No word on “Iowa” and Slipknot, but we think it unlikely.
“The casinos don’t want you to see this,” says an online ad … but there are five slot machines allowed in every bar in St. Croix County.