The ugliness just keeps getting uglier, and that’s a task when you’re talking about Putin vs. Trump, and not just receding hairlines, but territories with status adrift amidst the war scenery on the map of the region.

If we could see a wrestling match between the two, would anybody come? A ticket to less fame, not even more. Even if it was held in Moscow rather than remote Siberia? Or a sumo match, with red carpet leading to the ring, with Trump this time the reigning champ because of his girth?  After all, these are two butt-ugly people – the ring girl quit after seeing portfolios of the headliners, and all that left was the hot dog guy and certainly not Oscar Meier — and we would be throwing them more on the world stage? But Mr. Z cuts a chiseled-look face, if not chin. But back to the summit of worldly concern, and that could be described as a non-summit,  as Putin could go as a VP, its good the two pez did not dispense any children, or even half-breed. Those pez toys might sell better.

But of course the newest news, and even this is being drowned out by other proclamations with less of a frown, as the summit continues to plummet, there will be not American boots in the foreign blood and the mud, and the guts and the beer, to bring in, or leave out, Fort McCoy. (The National Guard could still be brought out to Chicago, despite the D.C. experience, is the Upper Midwest close enough.) But what, could there be considered a reversal by a future president – say the year 3000 if you look at the history of this region of the world. I’d be more inclined to be concerned about a flip-flop by the current Fearless Leader, as he seems to do this almost daily.

The conflict and its process of entering into, isn’t to be entered with the rush typical of Russian guns, and needs expert care, a talking head said. What, has there not been time enough already, and what, is the talker’s head’s name tag Boris? Just so no one shoots the limo driver taking it back to the Continental United States, through Canada, from Alaska.  On the way there, and we assume it wasn’t flown in by a 787 or pre-empted by a glorified Uber from Anchorage, the Mounties may have offered protection, if tariffs were lifted, or they weren’t going to let a Boris-like bad guy in through the ranks if they were possibly seen on the take, as the taking is good, and the horses were too busy playing horse hockey to notice. After all, with all the shenanigans involving tariffs, income might have been cut and there might be a need to supplement, to wit. Or they could go south of the border and go ICE, to get a different job. “Vhat a country!”

Or a territory. Putin just grabs more. He has access to a port for his largely land-locked country, so why not just give up the ghost right now. The fact that he now has edged even closer to Poland, in the war against Ukraine, should be a concern to all, EU only the start. Poland gets not so slowly rolling. A rock and hopefully not to roll over. Remember Poland? Where Hitler’s grab and take started to finally raise question marks?

I will give Trump one thing. He gets around. And not just the 18 holes of a golf course, and too much of that, but by issuing about as many executive orders. You can’t burn Bondi or the Star Spangled Banner, in another far right move, but you can burn through your cash in bail for any minor alleged crime, and he can burn Bolton and bring up again Bridgegate. And it you defy any of his decrees, the National Guard will come getcha, while he takes his new reality show tour on the road. To your hometown.

But there is that golf thing. Too much of it. With the taxpayer paying for his junkets, going to places like Scotland – is that where all the good links are? – at a clip of $152 million for one term of office and $52 million so far the next … Why cut just cut in an even $100 million in the middle. And throw that presidential ballroom into the budgeting.

And Texas is officially redistricted. With 49 states also be to come? Will California be one? And a few territories? I gotta go back to that person who if she does not get mosquitoed, will get GOPed. Knowing that one rich friend, with the connections and that big ranch. Will that whole parcel be a separate district in itself?    

Downtown Hudson needed a men’s clothing shop, so now you don’t have to go across the river over to Woodbury or past Stillwater, to buy preferably upscale but also accessible sportswear, to go along with all the antique shops and boutiques for women’s wear that abound. A fun, boating-theme place you can go to get a (last minute?) sport coat or such if she requests or you feel the need, before going to the show in the park. Or just stop in whenever there is a requirement, or say a need for some really cool Old Fashioned mix to complete the vibe. Or for whatever reason.

Now we have St. Croix Provisions, boasting gentleman’s dry goods and a premier mens’ shopping experience, like the ladies also like. There are leather chairs, plural, to sit in while you contemplate your clothing decision, with your just purchased — do it first — old fashioned drink mix kit setting on the table in front of you with wooden slices forming its top. It’s in the middle of the 400 block in the middle of the downtown, and nextdoor to Brick’s Pizza, but worth walking just a bit.

— At least she gave me a “virtual” birthday gift. While out on that night, I saw some had-to-be concert-goers belly up to the bar, and there had just been a tour going through Somerset and also a plethora of groups like Pantera in the Cities. One woman had on a barely there, largely see-through black bra, like you’d see at an Old School metal show, and her bud was wearing an Iron Rebel black T-shirt, complete with saying inscribed. After waffling for a bit, and avoiding any possible ass-kicking, he turned around and I made my move to ask. Is that shirt an Iron Maiden reference? Nope, he said, we’re just doin’ power-lifting. Socially awkward.

As I left, I couldn’t wait to tell this Maiden story to a bouncer friend. Intrigued, he checked it out inside. Meanwhile, I saw someone I thought I recognized as an early Maiden fan, with a high sense of decorum, and returned eye contact. Then, my news flash. She pulled up her shirt and flashed her breasts at me. Definitely not my shy friend. After thinking for a few moments, I went back in to have some quick fun with the situation. She inserted in a heartbeat, “is your wife outside?” Ironically, she had been with me a few hours earlier, and I was left wondering if the new woman was flirting about a past event or staging a coming one. But right then I left, stage right without an answer. —

Back to my boat decor. There is everything you want here from summer to fall, to dressy but still casual shorts, to plenty of pants, and shirts button down and otherwise. You can try them out in a pair of dressing rooms — yes we now have them — with great big gray, plaid drapes to cover. Next to them is a large mirror, five-feet square, to see how you look. There are T-shirts, of course, with slogans such as “Sorry for what I said while docking the boat.” Candles can be bought too. Again, motif.

As is the motorcycle racing art, great big pictures and trophies, and since they have roots in South Dakota the token jackalope. That’s from the other half of the business team — Anne along with her side interior design business that’s located on a side wing through a big door — and her family’s flag in the form of a wooden plaque that stems from her partner Thomas Elmer’s law enforcement background in Faribault County, Minn. Some proceeds go to Wisconsin veterans, and drew inspiration from visiting mens’ shops in Des Moines to Omaha, in the form of the Wounded Warriors Project.

And then there are those side projects, not just in the cool music purposefully chosen but what is offered to again, complete the vibe. Grave Before Shave moody-type beard accessories, with the added toned-down brands Uppercut and Guy Lively and more. Whitley’s Peanut Factory, jumbo version too, from Virginia this time, salted and roasted in the shell. You can buy in the bag or can.

And then there is, in different forms, cocktail kits to go with Old Fashioned mix and gin smash, inside its vintage housing, also, and that aroma is to die for.

Annie’s interior design business now covers the Hudson area and even over to Eau Claire, after a 12-year run of doing theater on stages all over the world.  She currently is using her theatrical nature to help people get design homes of their dreams. Everything is a reflection of things like her unique use of color palate. Annie is a graduate of the New York Institute of Art Design.

After jointly, the pez of the two present countries, no Ukraine, talked about fishing on a nearby Alaska reef, the Red Carpet was long and the discourse short.

Lifting tariffs for red salmon? Shipped from which port? Trump praised the fact that as the real deal, master of that deal, had welcomed business people brought along from Putin’s country that historically has not known how to get it done, to finagle about trade and territorial tiddledywinks.

Hey, he said it: There is no deal until there’s a deal, on a ceasefire, from the master of the book on the art of the deal, so …

When called, while on the carpet, Trump’s still face looks red. With hidden anger. Embarrassment?

They may have smiled at each other, but Putin still gave Trump the uprised non-middle finger. Like up his armpit. Choose left or fight.

— There will be spirit by the lake on Saturday, as in spiritual, as this festival that is billed as family friendly is although not announced as so very Christian based, will bring praise to the park on Saturday, Aug. 23.

Four performing acts, from solo-base acts to full families, will go in from late afternoon to early evening with the water as a backdrop.

As this was being discussed, someone that is not really divine told me that he had just seen a band called Lowdown Dirty Fools featured three different vocalists and the best harmonies he has heard, with a rarity, a female on sax amongst its seven members. They are continuing to grace the area with their presence. —

Was this more show than the Oscars? And there was moreso pink than vermillion on this Red Carpet. And it started with a grey tarp, like carp on our 48 states, for Trump, as he walked alone, as Putin made him wait. And then it was a blue, note that color, platform and steps that they both, as one, strode happily together down.

And then about a dozen steps more, for both of them, they ended up locked in a limo together, and one wonders if there were knives hidden just below seat level. One also wonders if there were a driver present, like a New York cabbie behind the wheel, what would have been thought about the goings on behind in the backseat. If Joysey, would have been joint death.

And there were those hand movements, going back, when they met, and the main one from Putin was that uprised finger. Trump was all over the place with them. Putin stood firm.

Speaking of going back, those oh, those commentators afterward. One wore a Falling in Reverse T-shirt, among the talking head(s). That could be a metaphor for the whole summit. Is that what it was called, as a news type searched for a word, like a meeting, as she eventually termed it, A summit? More like an old hiker that wore the proverbial hat who was struggling to get to the top of a small hill. 

At this “summit” was there speculated talk of exchanged territory. Wink, wink about the status of Crimea? Shimea??

And the amongst many ugly leaders the unpopular topic of Ukraine becoming part of NATO? Now there is an example of some progress that could have been announced at the followup news conference.

Or a headline: You could fit all of the damn Kremlin inside that huge ol’ jet airliner that Putin rode in on like mounting a saddle. Forget the Hindenburg.

It didn’t take me too far away. Only to Alaska, where the summit was held, far from the oval office, but near Soviet soil. Neutral ground?

For the relative distance, Putin coulda taken a drone.

And for the comment on it all, I’ll take my chances with Chance The Rapper, via MS-NBC. Or BBC. Or ABC.

They took note of Helsinki too, as far as past Trump-Putin head-to-heads. They looked the same, facially, with Trump about 100 pounds lighter. But with no Red Carpet?

As all the territory a long-running carpet could yield: Land swaps? Putin as sworn, he just may have said to Trump: I want Alaska back.

Would a land swap have a prayer of passing for the war itself? Hey, Alaska is far from Ukraine.

But still now, we have its prez, waiting by the phone, hoping the area network coverage doesn’t lapse. Hey, if you need infrastructure, mister-grab-it, Putin, take the energy grid.

His first steps on US soil since 2015. Filthier soil? Environmentally unsound? Home soil?

As far as the followup joint press conference? Depending on how it goes? Did we have any at all? No questions taken, you’all.

Since Putin comes prepared, the talking heads said, for such summits. While Trump golfs then wings it. Still, despite walking the 18, little weight lost.

Come Sunday, (little if any NFL Football), which happens to be my birthday, in the year that has passed, or about half that since the inauguration took effect, things look different — on the other side of the quarter or bomb.

Right now it’s more about fuses for warfare, than it is about wicks for candles. Either way, the cake is melting fast. So what else to do with a birthday coming …

So go see my longtime favorite bartender Chad — who also happens to have a degree in law — and says the U.S. Dollar is down 12 percent since The First or otherwise in January, the country is printing money faster than it can be rolled off the presses for a 400-pound man on the crapper to support a federal deficit that if not a record now soon will be one, because of that the volatile stock market is up before the inevitable crash, the logical-it-would-seem Kensian course of monetary thinking has screwed up everything, (all bad things), and don’t bet against Bitcoin (we’ll have to see if he is right.) Maybe bit by byte. 

— It’s Pepperfest weekend again, the little set of shows that could, together forming one great big Italian undertaking to shake all of southern Europe.

As far as music, Saturday night is The Luck, and Sunday night Firewater Gospel Choir, both bands whose members, if not joined as a group, have been individually chronicalled on these pages.

So we focus on Friday night and the ’90s with a costumed tribute band to the decade and all its genres and sub-genres called Gen X Jukebox. It’s here as a new brew with everything about — you guessed it — the 1990s in one show that’s called incredible. Re-live what’s called the greatest decade??

This will cover not just country but all the radio hits of pop, dance, rap, rock and of course we can’t forget grunge. This is performed in full costume, bringing (back?) to life the varied characters like Courtney Love, Spice Girls, Britney Spears, Eddie Vedder, Vanilla Ice and Garth Brooks. Can’t be sure about Kurt Cobain! But I saw a Slash-like top hat with tatts and an AC/DC singer style hat and hair. Not the big hair of the ’80s but that in sexy pigtails of the ’90s lead singers. What could be more feel good?

Then take what’s at the Somerset amphitheater to close out the summer, on Friday on the 15th, $uicideboy$, (this written on a video playback journey back into the ’80s that was billed as a historical retrospective to the Filthy 15 on the other side of my screen), and then on the 16th, Hardy, both bands headlining or at least playing with tours. —

But with B-Day approaching, my income is down, although that may be more a procedural matter of time passing and benefits reducing, than the direct fault or effect of the Trump administration. For once.

Remember when the only thing people were questioning about his then-candidacy, in the media or the Capitol or the dinner table or the bar, was his going after the special counsel going after him? The good old days? Like Archie Bunker being just old hat.

Or we could have pondered, with few things to spare, why actual candidate RFK Jr. was asking to be taken “off” the presidential ballot. Must have taken too much of all those things you’re not supposed to take. Candidate, vaccinate thyself.

At least I could have gone back to last summer to celebrate, with a birthday concert. Like the last supper. Both these shows are having come to Minnesota, or Somerset. The former being Farm Aid 40, as least not as old as I, headlined by Neil Young and backed up by Willie Nelson, this time those guys more in their silver years, just like Biden or Trump. Tickets were in the range of $39 to $100, and would seem again dependent on age, as again a range.

Or the party when me and my old lady were out sitting in the shade, or more like the heat of the day trying to hide my face from the sun, outside at the strip mall, lawn chairs, old-person, trailer-park style. (You know, the ones seen actively, except for (certain parts) of the ocean, from here until the Yugoslavia-Hamas north-south intercontinental line.) Prior to our last attempt at a birthday party. There was the Olsen Fish Co. and yes I do believe they have Lutefisk, (while fish was not tariffed), and a hot dog rock and rolla roller with buns and Oscar Meyer sign I also believe, and they seemed to have an issue with their Os and Es, and even Ks and Hs when you get just to the east Hunting Shacks with their deer and ducks and their sales pik. In the next parking lot we encountered on our trek, we wanted to take our own photo of one that when fully erected would become the subject of an ad picture, so we got an invite. It was the size of a veritable airplane hangar. Being grilled, or whatever you do to it, was lutefisk, at the door next to the next door. Next to it, a home’s open house at “920,” as per small sign, was sitting in the boulevard, dwarfed by a pair of Realtor open house placards, for a business at-large.

This wasn’t exactly inner-city — but now return to front — was a cause and reason Snoop Dogg cited for doing The Donald’s inauguration party, going GOP not Dem. The Dogg, not Fogg or Fudd — and it seemed like there was also a gag in here about an election worker named Fuge, or do I have to fudge — said he did so to make loads of money for inner-city charities, although it didn’t seem like that much. The Dogg said his only party is the Gangsta Party, and asked online about doing something at a GOP event, “iz it a crime?” It is one that so many younger people out and about are trying to look like this old soul.

And it may be a crime, now that we can get back on a train, that a Joynsey mafia-ish figure set out to aid the cause of public transit workers on strike. But hey, it might have been he who contributed to building their bridge pillars, (now down after being struck by ships, to complicate matters). And those are likely as reliable as air travel landings when traffic controllers are doing a double. They shoulda been on this problem about the last time I traveled by air. Before that last one.   

It was alas, around then that the stabber of the author of The Satanic Verses, famed writer Salman Rushdie, was sentenced to 25 years in prison. And what, and the prior doer of dozens of felonies gets, what?? 

So that’s a hodge-podge of leftovers that were leftover from the last time I blew out the candles, and then soon ate leftovers.

The bands at Hammond Heartland Days this weekend — and they always bring the best to rock the house top-night — could definitely not be more different, and they’re bringing in shows bigger in scope than laying it down with mere basic foursomes. These are professional musicians, well-suited, literally, sporting the ware required by their genres. Hammond Days music runs Aug. 8-9, so check it out for yourself.

Starting off the country on Friday evening — set between shows by DJ acts across both nights — is a band, Maiden Dixie, of many backgrounds in style and sound and genres, with true diversity, gained from living in multiple countries, beyond just country. In schools where they have studied music and gotten their notes to develop a blend of the best of country, rock, blues and Americana, too.

— There is also a truck and tractor pull starting at 5 p.m. Saturday, and if local parades are any indictator, these are the types of implement equipment you will see, although the tractors are far amped up in size to be able not to bale but to pull huge payloads: a method of propulsion that looks like a cannon sticking forward, a sloped top angling away from the steering wheel to reach high, and oversize for the rest of its machinery big yellow wheels. —

Kaytee Amaro on lead vocals has driven forth sound with her powerful voice and commanding stage presence since 2007, whether leading a country rock anthem, recording streaming and commercial voiceovers, or collaborating with other local bands with what’s called an incredible vocal range.

This bassist is widely renowned for his backup singing and largely responsible for writing their originals, true of many in rhythm sections, and all members have parts in putting together their 130-song set list, which includes a keyboardist.

Their best known original song, Goin Down, weighs in at 4:45 minutes. There is a female lead singer, with men on backup vocals. She has tattooed forearms that showcase numerous ink stars, befitting a true star status, and the guys can often be seen wearing checkered long-sleeve shirts, and hey that’s true country.

The band members range from France to England to Massechuesetts as far as where they grew up, bringing that again, diversity to their sound. They have influences from church and gospel music to state fairs, to shredding through Zeppelin in basement sessions, and the drummer is also well-versed in jazz, metal, funk and other genres.

One member even has had punk influences. He on drums has multiple degrees in studying music, from places as far afield as London — the main birthplace of modern music — and other bandmates have studied in big cities all across the country.

While checking out those scenes, Maiden Dixie gained the grit, groove, and good times that have commenced since bursting onto the scene in 2011 as an electrifying five-piece, and building a loyal following across Minnesota and beyond that they will bring to Hammond.

They’ve shared the stage with national acts, rocked A-list venues, and are said to have earned their place as a must-see act on the Midwest live music circuit. More than just a band –they’re a band of brothers (and sister) who are as tight as they are rowdy.

— Maiden Dixie plays from 7-11 p.m. Earlier on Friday, starting at 5:30 p.m., is DJ Brayten, said to be a “sconic alchemist” who mixes his own.

Saturday, from 5 p.m. to midnight, is another free performance, by the DJ Kar Jackers Entertainment, in a return engagement. Like Maiden Dixie, they are no strangers to such stages in the area and broader region. —

The Kar Jackers are a professional family-owned mobile DJ, photo booth and professional karaoke business based in Western Wisconsin, covering all of Minnesota, Wisconsin and Upper Iowa. As members of the New Richmond, Clear Lake, Amery, and Siren Chambers of Commerce, they work with these communities to give free shows for retirement homes and music for schools/town events.

Due to the referrals from past clients, banquet halls and event planners they have become one of the most sought-after entertainment services in the area, providing music and entertainment at thousands events since 2006.

Their digital library includes all genres of music from the ’40s to today’s hits, and is updated weekly, so if you saw them in the area last year …

The sound system is second to none, they say, with three different size systems depending on your needs and the size of the event. From 12-inch JBL speakers for small intimate engagements up to 14-foot-tall speaker towers pushing over 30,000 watts of window-shaking sound, combined with hundreds of professional-grade intelligent LED lights and laser. They also have fog and bubble machines, large screen televisions and a three-person team of entertainers, including Sean Springsteen, a 25-year Elvis tribute artist, and an emcee/production manager/ordained minister for weddings.

The late Princess of Darkness? A latter day Apostle Peter? Now essentially the same man, delivering much the same message, if you go beyond the sheer basics?

How so? Both were very spontaneous, in what could be seen as impulsive, but in their own way loyal, with measures of both unusual faith and maybe even more doubt, were the go-to ones for the good powers that be, and thus made their mark on the world and beyond, despite obvious ADHD, and had (self-styled?) religion at the forefront of their being, if at times going south (of heaven?) as sayeth semi-spiritual-soulmates Slayer.

Peter was The Rock on which Christ built His church, and Ozzy Osbourne, who recently passed, was the voice and soul of the original Black Sabbath, regarded as the seminal and original heavy metal band, as his clear vocals brought the profound lyrics, many involving a complex view of religion, to life. (Ozzy was indeed a Christian, despite what you might have heard, his denomination being Anglican Protestant, not unusual for a Brit. He and his bandmates sat down and prayed before every concert. Ozzy was into the Bible, though had trouble reading it because of his dyslexia.)

Ozzy’s antics fueled by impulsivity, even while singing songs about Christ-meets-Marvel figures, are well-documented, although often inaccurately. And it was Peter who impulsively asked to be crucified upside-down — Slayer would reference that — although once the blood was finally rushing to his head, he might have rethought that. And Peter denied Christ three times, again impulsively, then was haunted and very depressed about the action once reconsidering. He then went and wept even before Jesus soon would in the garden, right before his death.

But there were other moments. Peter was the only one besides Jesus who walked on water, with faith, but then the doubt slipped in and he started to slide into the beckoning depths. But could he still right himself? This would take even more faith. Ozzy’s method in this manner, is saying sincerely and literally thousands and thousands of times to the sinners in his concert audience, for one time being consistent, God Bless You. Where does faith come in? The band did this despite the risk of turning off their core audience. Though so many groups often reference God, few will admit to being any kind of Christian metal, as it is the kiss of death for record sales. And bands did not make much money in those days; the stories of the broken-down band van yet again breaking down on their way to a show, with no money to fix it, are true. Ozzy and mates did not care about this, they leave that role not to the poor, but to the rich record companies.

But back to the impulsivity. This is a hallmark of ADHD, which also brings about a higher level of mental thought, if properly organized. Both things like that would have to be present to have the gall to ask Jesus Christ some of the questions, about mutual love, that Peter did.

Note that it was John who Christ said was the disciple he loved, but Peter was the Rock. But a rock can crumble when struck, though it takes forever to erode.

Every good musician, or even man-deity, needs a right-hand-man. And another John, the Baptist, could be seen as Christ’s original, saying yet another would come who was much greater than he, and then he had his own band of brothers, the 12 apostles who included Peter, who like Ozzy, also, were anything but perfect. And Ozzy, of course, had his own band or bands, with the driving force of the bass players who also wrote most of Ozzy’s lyrics, thus forming a cadre themselves. Without Ozzy, there would be no heavy metal or hard rock, Christian or otherwise, and without Peter there would be no church.

Peter, thus, was very complex, and Ozzy had the odd distinction, too, of collecting both crucifixes and devil figurines. He said it struck a “balance.”

Again complex. Would you expect anything less from followers of Jesus? 

To complete the analogy, Ozzy has done so much good for the vast number of youngsters in his audience, actually far from his Prince of Darkness persona. (See an earlier post, three down from this one.)

In that post, we compared Ozzy to fellow Black Sabbath lead singer, who took over for him, that being Dio. To bring Peter back in, he is believed to be present in the Biblical Transfiguration, a reference made in one of the first Dio songs, and the only thing written on his tombstone, Man On The Silver Mountain. (OK, we douby Ozzy was there.) But all three men were prominent, in their own way, in spreading the Gospel. Peter had an especially prominent role in doing so late in his life, after Christ’s death, and was named the church’s first pope.

While Dio’s death was before the heyday of the internet, and did not spread like wildfire, Ozzy’s continues to do so, being the first rock mega-star to have died since the onset of online being everything. That trips up the legacy, among others, of people like Curt Cobain, Prince and even Chris Cornell, the latter two of which wrote a lot about spirituality. Or even religion. Check out some of Cornell’s stuff, with various groups.

A sampling of Ozzy songs you can check out that show this religious side in a more straight-forward way are: After Forever, Revelation (Mother Earth), and God is Dead? Note the question mark. Also the end of War Pigs, the early anti-war anthem.

The cycles will now be silent, for now, like our beloved metal musician, at least at a longtime charitable event and its run and roar. Kickstands meet guitars.

But keep irons up and smiles on, as there will be more kickstands up in other forms coming up! So no spokes in your pedals.

— Camping is now upon on, and it is not yet the winter kind, but maybe halfway. Or 60/40. Or (temps falling) in reverse. A leaf was seen to drop, like completing a touchdown pass, to finalize an endless cycle. The sign said it: Football weather is here. As halfway into the season. And I saw for the first time in a long time, heat before and after us, sweatshirts being worn. And that was at the usual Wisconsin barometer, shortly before liquor stores time to close. —

Billed as the 10th (and final) annual Alzheimer’s Motorcycle Ride on June 14, that is 2025, this one started at No Name Saloon in Prescott and ended, as is often the case for rallies since there is woods-lined camping available on 17 acres, at the GasLite Bar and Grill near Ellsworth, and is noteworthy for including live music from country stalwarts Austin Healy amidst drawings and a cash bar. Another fifth-annual run came in mid-July, sponsored by Bikers Against Teen Suicide.

But now, in August and onward, such rallies again resurface. There is Scotty’s Run for Vets on Aug. 16, with tunes, fit for even a farewell, by Hero’s End, but you don’t have to wait that long.

So now I’ll stop meandering, like cycles on a winding and secluded rustic road, as the motorcycles will get their motors running with a featured band or two, and it’s beyond Motorhead.

Its the 3rd annual TRIMBELLE DAYS at the GasLite, as it’s set on that creek, from Aug. 1-3, with Saturday tractor pull and music from Eddie’s Acoustic Solo Act at the outdoor bar from 1-4 p.m., and Rock Godz, this time on the indoor stage, until near midnight.

Sunday brings the UTV Ride at 11 a.m. with the round-trip itinerary clocking in at approximately 106 miles across the rustic trails near Maiden Rock (weather permitting), over to Twisted Sisters Saloon, Arkansaw, repeating over to the Rec Hall & Ree Pete’s, Arkansaw, Eau Galle Saloon, Exile Bar and The Honey Hole, Beldenville.

And for a whole ‘nother post, if you skip down over one, a whole lot more on music, this time about Ozzy.

And now we are off to a topic loved by everyone, 62 percent of them being Able Red Blooded Men Including But Not Limited To Those Not On Welfare …

OK, that topic: Sex industry workers. And who employs or otherwise uses them. On an infamous island’s been there or play at a place like it list.

Trump? Epstein. Maybe even Musk, in what would be another small docket, for this accuser? Most associates. All men? Especially MAGAns. Epstein and Elon again? (Those are different people.) I will now plat the island in question.
Yes I know, you can quibble about what’s “fame” and what’s the truth, but let’s add up the number of credibly accused A-Listers named all over, in some cases, the Epstein Files mega, in some ways, list. What, can’t you guys count? Or is the number, old and sorry to say young, so large it takes a whole legal team of counters? Then make and employ them as mega-pages photocopiers, too. You know. That’s how judges do it. And apparently she who is bonded needs many feet on the floor to trudge through the whole list, so the opp and the app maybe too exists, for them to do overtime or a side hustle. (Or for those wanting to sleep their way to the top?)

— Reimagining Scrappy. Good name. (This more than table scraps.)

He is the sculptured New World Dog (like those Old World statues?) that is artistically concocted of a conglomeration of so many recyclables, and part of his re-creation was all the stuff, broadly speaking, that was gathered shoreline during the fairly recently completed several-day RiverFest, (it took a while to count cans), which was chock full of dozens of activities along the St. Croix. The cleanup, like many, was a free activity in which to participate, but there was also a free complimentary lunch provided by Ciranda, (not Cicada, as that’s the bug that only comes around once in a while, and cleanups are more frequent.) That free grub, however, is how you draw-in volunteers.

However, they may have miscalculated the scope. They actually only collected enough debris to go around the earth 0.001 times. Just kidding. —

So how now, to disclose, legally and that becomes part of the quagmire and the stalling tactics that force us to speculate and flirt about it, every name on the dirty list from three letters to 13?
Ride Trump’s butt, as it could deflect attention from the fact that he allegedly is one of those on the list — and a former supporter says that because of such accusations, now no way again — and if she who is the head general legal beagle won’t, maybe he will. That being Trump getting (guilt) release by releasing the files on Epstein et al, that he has earlier been given, as these now seem to be being passed around. What, can’t anyone here run a photocopy machine? I realize that it might take a whole team of workers: (Re: Memo: To The Office, the old show I finally watched at least in trailer form?) Maybe a more useful, respectable task for ICE workers, amidst the trailer trash? Or those laid off judges? Have them bake (as mere cooks not chefs) for us and our laziness, all the these days unmade pizza at the pizzeria, or they will fry beneath. Or also employ the now jobless federal Ed heads of departments?
I spied a couple of fire trucks outside one of our local pizzerias. Does pepperoni and sausage light halls and escape routes on fire? Would it burn the whole house down and with it half (and half as this is Wisconsin) the local downtown? Were the firefighters, contrarily, ICE workers in disguise, seeing what they could cook up? Or Fed workers in general, putting in some overtime to serve as a needed fallback nest-egg.
Elon Musk first alleged weeks ago that Trump’s name has appeared in that court docket known as the Epstein files, concerning the late latter’s alleged sex activities with underage girls. There even appears to exist a “birthday” list. And many more … How many big names, and doubling down with Diddy, not to mention children, are a part of this web? I do know now that if I use the word “orgy,” it would only be if those participating number more than 200. Kids only count as a half.
Methinks Musk’s — and if they kiss and makeup maybe Trump’s — newest car endeavor will likely be buying the vehicles that Tawny Kitaen primped on for those Whitesnake music videos. But with Tesla stocks at times plunging, the electric cars may be left having to run on AAA batteries. Maybe the car club by that name can help. Or with marketing the Musk-brand “autonomous” vehicles, introductory-price- featuring $4.20 for a ride flat-fee. Or fat-free in this era of cutting. And you can rent out to others, it was announced with a Tesla employee at his side. But do we really need this? Maybe ICE agents do, for more efficiency to track down those allegedly bad men running away down the alley. And it’s seedy, not like the ones we have in town.
ICE (Ironic Characterizations Embodied) is by far the highest funded law enforcement agency. Perhaps this also is “the most complex military operation in history,” Trumping first the Iran missile strike. But where the hell is all that uranium, enriched or otherwise, hidden in lots of mountain caves. Wait, was that Afghanistan? Wait, hiding in the hills? That was those hunted by ICE.
With ICE, and the fervor over detainee treatment, both by feet on the mainstream floor and those walking jail halls, trying to lock up alleged murderers that might beget murders of protestors. This is not our first rodeo on that one.
Closer to home, what, alleged Minnesota murderer(s) were targeting a Dem legislator or two or three too? Going forward in reverse, from those usually aimed at. Leave triplicate to the Gopher State. In the Badger State we just get them super-drunk first and then have them take a big fall and that does the job for us. Apparently in various mountain states, with more of them-thar-hills in them, it’s also a practice.
Usually, it’s people in power, so no concern that to them that inflation has been listed as up by 2.7 percent, by the latest released figures, as tariff fallout starts to hit, just in advance of Aug. 1. Again, going forward in reverse. Trump called it a small increase. But for a homeless person: Big increase. A lot more to shell out for that usually $3.19 bottle of soda.

It’s often called — unlike with ICE and its continually escalating and all-around gung-ho policy — but otherwise repeatedly buy newsmen and women, as a major shift. But let’s call a duck a duck. It’s a full-on flip-flop and Telfon Trump is the undisputed heavyweight champion king of this, adding to his resume almost daily, well over and above any princes. And it does not have wings. So unlike his turning of head on minor matters, never make a meaningful policy shift, just ask/force/beckon heads that will roll to resign.
His time is short, cranking out so many threatening letters on tariffs and so little time before they take effect. Therefore, no time left for you, depending on which country you are, for negotiations on tariffs. Did we not see that this would be the case?

I see the big “X” for an address over an apartment doorway, like lamb’s blood, as lettering at the end of the alphabet … since we hear he’s looking, this place could mark the spot for the former Twitter’s headquarters?? Last suite on the left … but not in the White House.
I think we should do a great-big-beautiful survey, with all that money, since it apparently-is-available-if-the-purpose-is-deemed-necessary-by-the-right-people, to see what The People actually think we should do with all this shit? Remember, We The People? All The People. Not just The Nut Case People!

But now for Trump, as per the cache of unusual weapons in this latest of what I’m sure will be more assassination attempts, what he needs for defending himself a hatchet too? From back to earlier times and centuries, like when The Father Fred screwed people … OK, that might not be going back that far.
It was only a matter of time.

Frozen in time …

Is flowing like a river.

Locally, again on the competing cold states, two ad messages agree when they say: Never too early for deer hunting. So gear up on guns now … Maybe moreso that bows and arrows thing, as for every thing there is a season. One way is much more effective. But archers away, I say. Maybe as an agent, as in a method of use, by back-tier ICE agents to give, even if it’s covert and done in secret, cover support to their mates. With budget cuts, you know, still looking and searching … for a 20 percent discount? Like everyone.

New squatters in the old parking lot of a long-standing store drew Stillwater online messaging wrath. At least I hope it’s a big one, to hold more (I will still dare to call them people, even if poor) and still allow room for the longstanding haughty locals. Appears to be a need to get relief from ICE, in this heat, even if you have to go indoors to get it.

Likewise, one person questioned, why so many motorcycles in Bayport the other day? It’s called a rally, silly. Or was it an ICE oriented event — as this writer goes back to his main buzz word — to lure in undocumented bikers?

Yes, Ozzy Osbourne has finally kicked the bucket — not being kicked out of another band — after riding around its rim in veering circles for many years, and all during that time I said he would certainly die on stage doing what he loved.

My prediction was close. Only a tarot card reading would bring me any closer. I think Ozzy, as in John Osbourne, who recently was praised for of all things his sense of humor, would have loved this running joke. As ran it did. Amongst rumors and health issues and tales of alleged evil-doing that encompassed the entire millennium, and before it.

Prior to Tuesday’s unfortunate but inevitable demise — Ozzy and also his fellow metal mates in arms have sang for years that the reaper will in the long run get us all — there was that killer (sorry about the pun) farewell concert in the birthplace of he and so many metal stars, Birmingham, England, on July 5. One bright, fine day we celebrate independence and the next the literal swan song of an iconic singer, and also a reality TV show star. For once not cryptic, but by literally all accounts full of love. So many superstars hauled out their guitars and got to do a cover song of Ozzy — with or without him — and race their way through a single song or in many cases a full set. There is not word if on some cases, the solos were cut short.

— I’ll call it price creep. Like clock creep, only just a bit faster … When I ventured into the local grocery store, again, I noticed for a third time that the numbers on the shelf labels — like those in ticking time — are over the hours and days and weeks slowly, in small but steady increments, increasing. Not in one great big bang, however, slowly creeping up on you and your wallet, like a nearly direct quote from a poly ad, and very oddly one from the local GOP. Like the vast number of seconds on a clock seems to over time advance just a bit in speed.

This in the grocery aisle started with the jelly, then peanut butter, then bagels, then bread. The specials and house brands were still quite reasonable, but the rest seemed a bit up … just like the ticks on a clock.

Even more past the discounted lane, and on to the next corner over and the mayo and such … Most everyone in the store seemed more harried and moving with a sense of urgency and purpose.

I looked for someone on whom I could test my theory — a couple of flashes of eye contact, back and forth — but no takers. I finally as I headed out, saw an older woman searching quite ardently for floral arrangements and then started my soliloquy. She smiled and nodded halfway through my spiel, up to the point of prices rising only slowly, then gazed down at the flowers again. Like in the Dio song, Don’t Talk To Strangers, sarcastically about meeting people randomly, “don’t smell the flowers, they’re an evil drug that will make you lose your mind …”

Meanwhile, at WalMart, there are still price rollbacks, but they mostly seem targeted and in small groups.

Since that earlier shopping foray, at the start of July, prices have only gone up, especially with some produce, and really, really beef, so have a cow about it. In turns out that, as the numbers have now come in, inflation did increase 2.7 percent in the last 12 months. Trump dismissed the rise as miniscule. —

An earlier “farewell” gig, this time a full tour, was the final time I saw Ozzy in concert, and it featured the full band. It was titled The Last Supper, and as enticed by the promo, I worshipped at the altar. But July 22 would prove to be The Last Call.

On a new subject, the hidden but undeniable comparison was there to the death of Ronnie James Dio earlier in the 2000s. He was the one who famously took over as lead singer and frontman of Black Sabbath when Ozzy departed.

How so?

At the farewell concert, Ozzy and Jack Black just totally went off when covering one of his odes, Mr. Crowley, a very interesting choice (more on that in another post) of sinister wit that was pulled from Ozzy’s extensive song list, and my good and music-and-fun-loving and intellectual, although he would disagree with that characterization, friend Henry said just a couple of days after the death, this was the fave of his for the night.

Years earlier, Black gave the eulogy for Dio, and it went on 2.5 HOURS, not minutes. An omen? I have to put the question to my relatives, even when my brother gave a ten-minute memory of our late father last October, how many people know another person so well that they can talk about their attributes only — not deficits — for more than two hours? Deafening silence. And I met a women, and hung out for a bit the other year, and she said her brother scored an invite to Dio’s funeral, certainly a hot and difficult ticket to partake in.

A friend of mine said about a friend of hers, that he managed to “pass there” the security crews of valets and such, and not only met Ozzy but hugged him. She hadn’t broken the news to him yet, and was afraid that he would take that phone call very hard.

Another interesting thing was that was at least in the early music press reports, Tobias Forge, the lead singer of Ghost, a diverse band that has themselves avowed their Satanism beliefs — unlike Ozzy and Dio too who deny it — was told there was a cover song he would not be allowed to perform. The mind boggles at what that could even be, maybe the controversial Suicide Solution, the Ozzy hymn that warns against the dangers of alcohol misuse as the unintended “solution” mentioned, and is by no means an embrace of suicide. SS was, in the long run, in the top five of the set list on that July evening. And no, contrary to rumors that I must say they helped fuel, there was no suicide pact between Ozzy and Sharon.

As far as the tributes that came pouring in when the news fell like a metal hammer, they even reached to the movie and comedy arena, and included Flavor Fave, the early rapper, one of the first to respond. Hours later, the list included all ends of the entertainment industry and beyond, and virtually every music genre. Even PETA chimed in, and said Ozzy was an ardent supporter, if not completely consistent, of animal rights. Again, complexity and nuance.

And back to Henry, what did he describe as the most entertaining show he has seen?? Tenacious D, fellow singer Black’s project that owes to Dio, recently disbanded amid a controversy of their own, about a rant the guitarist said while on stage about Trump and George Clooney, interrelated.

All the metal originators and some who rode on their coattails, while piecing together musical garments of their own fit for a king or queen, performed at the 11-hour farewell. A few of the titans were not there, citing scheduling conflicts. It was a high-profile event that was hard to get a ticket to. Did that bro mentioned earlier go? Did the Kardashians make the cut?

The now partially disabled Ozzy sang from a throne, interesting because of the similarity to Dio. Ozzy once had a video aimed at his critics, where the joke was when they finally make it to a dubious heaven, it is an avenging Ozzy himself sitting on the throne as God, whom he had referenced so many times in song lyrics, sometimes as an avenging angel. But not him being the Prince of Darkness. Upon his death the often also falsely accused Dio, as the joke was floated online, was sitting on the right hand of Satan. The punch line is that he would boot Satan off his throne and take over.

Despite such things, and obvious differences in instrumental, there are lyrical relationships aplenty between both singer’s versions of Black Sabbath, and both men’s side projects. Social and from-the-divine justice and spirituality, in all sorts of ways and visions, was a common component, and both men have said on rare occasion, or you could say admitted, that they are Christians, though self-styled. 

Since is where it gets thorny for many metal musicians. Most choose not to disclose their religious beliefs, because they are complex and nuanced and evolving and they don’t want to be pigeonholed in the press as this or that, or have someone try to boil it down to a sound byte.

That said, Ozzy’s theology could be boiled down to this, if I can take a shot in the dark at it: Heaven is reserved for the select righteous few who are strong enough to obey God’s laws.

Ozzy has said he does not think he is going to heaven. Despite the fact that he he has done so much good, and says so many times in his concerts, we love you all, or God bless you, or some combination of those. He has undoubtably aided so many, in particular, of all ages, disaffected youth by letting them know, and even slamming them over the head with it, that they are loved. This may be the most frequent time that they hear they are universally loved.

Dio has written on his tombstone, I am the man on the silver mountain, a song he wrote that seems to reference Christ’s transfiguration, and the enraptured disciples who wanted to stay. Similar themes abound in the lyrics sung by both men. A commentator praised, “there is something of great musical, political and spiritual consequence happening here.” There is a reason that, again, both he and guitarist and friend Tony Iommi wore great big crosses on their chest at the show that served as a final countdown to Ozzy’s death.

A comparison of the messages in the two singer’s songs could run on at length, so I’ll leave that for another time. But you can expect, soon I promise, a thesis from me on how Ozzy could be seen as the Second Coming of the Apostle Peter! You’ll want to read this.

Praise in print?

It is interesting how the mainstream press has dealt with these deaths, especially since online versions are constantly spouting out updates to breaking stories, and the total volume produced is high. For instance with Dio, arguably more talented and one of the best singers ever, only merited about eight column inches tucked well inside the metro daily that informed me of the passing.

Compare that with Ozzy departing this year, and a paper of similar magnitude had a half-page on page five with photo. Also on the page, by way of comparison, was a story about legislator Tom Tiffany mulling a run for governor.

Maybe Ozzy, more precisely one of his still living bandmates, should pen a song about that! Will Ozzy be like his comical Bark At The Moon character (yes Ozzy can act) and rise from the dead? Don’t know, it’s not been three days yet.

What is more metal than spending your vacation at a slightly gothic monastery, where they vamp it up a bit only by saying old ritual prayer around sunrise. Like most of the setting of that classic old movie, The Name Of The Rose, with Sean Connery not as 007 but a centuries-back grand inquisitor, going after 666-ers! He’s fair, but you don’t want to piss him off.

But I digress, oh you vampire Slayers. Don’t get huffy Buffy.

Many years had passed since I last visited the St. Benedict monastery, now upgraded to an abbey, with a bit of modernization but not too much, in the foothills of Massachusetts.

That was not the only change to the pair of guest houses run by the brothers, now slightly-graying-and-balding men rather than young adults, which is well known to many church parishioners on the south end of the Superior diocese, which includes Hudson.

The carpet was a bit worn from wear, caused by the many sandaled footsteps made up and down its almost-football-field long hallway that is lined and packed with relics, photos, elaborate pencil drawings on yellow poster-size paper, many of them portraits of the monks themselves, and other decorations befitting a religious order. Most impressive is a mirror with several yards of embossed silver lining and lots of ornate crosses and crucifixes. So more metal. There are Sacred Hearts everywhere, many emblazoned by plenty of fire coming out of the top, where there also may be a crown of thorns, stabbed with thick daggers, and dripping lots of bloody tears. 

The nearby swimming house on a lake that greeted visitors, (and featured a rare time the brothers foresook their robes tied at the waist with rope or belt or priestly garb and sandals, depending on their tenure and status within the small Benedictine community) had been sold, but the monks were still joyous to see me at the monastery itself, like they are in their several-times-daily chanting. (I reminisced greatly and with a tear as I both visited, attended Mass and penned this piece.)

— The term Deo is oft seen on scrolls, especially in the most prayful places, and in occasional cases spelled Dio, as in the musician, which is rare in church circles. A truly red-letter-day. —

The adjacent small fruit and vegetable and jelly stand with big bins run by a group of likeminded nuns and located across the way, along the rural road in the foothills spreading out 30 miles from Boston, is no more, and the fields cut with tresher leading across descending hill and dale and very-old fashioned farm hosting a few dozen head of cattle is no longer tended to.

But still the monks worship and are gracious with omnipresent smiles and listening ears and are accommodating to the visitors, sometimes sent their way by local bishops if travelers have no place to stay, squeezing in short chapel services about the spoken-singing of The Hours almost every other hour; the main of the such services are held three times each day, and have sometimes elaborate titles, such as The Divine Office. They start at 6 a.m.

This is except on Saturdays when the ritual is cut short by an early evening night with the guests of G-rated, family-oriented movies still run by projector. (There used to be the late Friday night basketball game on a half-court tile floor that was one one end of the barn, even with a small kitchen, with the brothers and a few handpicked other men from the immediate area playing with unusual competitiveness while still in their robes, in this, which was formerly the parish hall. This was for the town of Still River, a berg that you otherwise would never know or have known existed.)

Sessions are held to the odd sounding, and supported by art-pieces Devotion to the Holy Face (of Jesus) and how does one practice it? The mission statement on a nearby wall uses archaic terms like the brother’s devotion to being in mortal slavery to the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

It is kind of like a step back in time. Even the bell tower that has a big wheel alongside to run it, along with its high four-legged tower with shrubs in the middle and wooden-studs-slotted-as slats between.

The two large guest houses themselves and a barn and a main building (that houses the rather big dining-hall-and-commons-area, and the chapel and the brothers’ end bedroom quarters) on the other wide of a long gravel path are likewise present in the buildings by themes of Trinitarian threes, whether it be the number of over-years-constructed-building-additions, and the trio of roof-covered, windowed-narrow-hallway-routes winding to the Old School chapel.

It all looks and feels very Gothic. Visitors may freely walk the grounds, including the old cemetery, but are cautioned not to wander between it and the brothers quarters.

The prayers and hymns are in Latin, largely, or newer and Old English or a combination of both, and the languages used seem very quaint and decidedly Medieval or even Middle Ages. Some of the older attendees are now having trouble kneeling and bowing, so they stay seated much of the time in the single row or sometimes two of pews, facing sideways, alongside the small but wide altar and Blessed Sacrament complete with large-scale decor on the back wall that is many centuries old

Who is there?

The small number of guests at one time are a disjoint conglomeration of largely odd professionals (particularly architects interested by the old buildings) and academics and a few housewives, often married people who spend a retreat or regular, almost bit of weekly time away from their spouses and children, adult or otherwise. This is what dinner conversation, always attended by a monk or two, often is centered, as all of these people are decidedly Catholic, and for the most part conservative. The guest houses have become more modernized with some ceiling lights, among other things, but feature a small bed and desk, for study or pleasure reading. The houses may serve as a weekend retreat location for teen youth from across a large area, and in back of one on a sparse, slightly slanted lawn is a net for volleyball, under a large oak that protrudes into what serves as a court. 

Beforehand, when they were brothers not many titled father, going back to the past millennium, a group of them started traveling to Hudson every summer for a week or two to visit and press the flesh with major donors in the area for their monastery, which has big buildings that are solidly constructed as was the order of business in colonial times, but unlike many of them simple and scaled back so to be inexpensive. Carol Landry, a parishioner at St. Patrick’s there, would each July play host.

Landry, though now past retirement age, still is an active volunteer at the church, among other things cooking up elaborate meals and at Thanksgiving hand-delivering them to homebound people, with fare that was far fancier than that served up at the monastery, although what was there is plentiful and beautiful in its stripped-back simplicity.

When have they last crossed paths? As the decades went on, the contact waned bit by bit, as the brothers were just getting too far into middle age and beyond to run the road, although Christmas cards and an occasional phone call are still exchanged. One more change from the days of being young and more eager monks. Daily prayers starting at 6 a.m. was enough.

Off past the parking area, now paved, are the big hayfields and a pasture, followed by a miles-long stretch of woods that leads up to a valley and then off to another small mountain, which one can see decorating the sunset.

The services made me harken back to my Lutheran background, surprisingly, with shared terms with Catholics such as Nuct Dimmicus, the Collect, and Kyrie Eliasion (like the ’70s song) with variations in the spelling given. The frequency of their use is more than you usually see in a Catholic Missal, and some of the language takes on the vernacular you might see on a black metal album cover or concert stage.

The term Deo is oft seen on scrolls, in occasional cases spelled Dio, as in the musician, which is rare in church circles.

The encore at the week’s main service is long, with more bowing, as the monks take position with backs turned to the audience and fronts to the altar, and the Gregorian Chant becomes more frequent. This is a thing of unexpected beauty, where it becomes more like a concert. As they process out, with eyes down and no eye contact made, the abbot sprinkles the audience with holy water, and I swear the drop that fell on my thumb left a burning sensation. Hell Awaits?

Those of you, going back to the start of this piece, who are movie buffs will get the irony of that.