The Devil may care, but Lordy it’s hard to dance to some of this music. However, maybe that’s something that a little, or more than a little, duct tape can fix. Or not so fashionably lame, gold lame tape?
— It was a sweet but short St. Patrick’s Day dance, and yes I have to say a lap dance, facing both front and back, that my wingman was given impromptu when a nice woman sauntered over at Dick’s Bar. But I must say, no red hair. Now my buddy never ever gets out on the dance floor. But this was St. Pat’s Day. So after quite the introduction, to continue the interaction forward, the next song played and he asked me if there is a style where its possible to dance — on the main floor — to the Charlie Daniels Band? Only if you do it like a real hillbilly, as that’s the real reason The Devil Went Down To Georgia, I said. That brings up mention of that tongue in cheek, vintage sign, much like a license plate, by the horseshoe area between rooms that says hippies must use the side door, no exceptions. Not even for that buttiful blonde? But, another young woman who works quite often as a downtown bartender and was right beside that sign stomped forcefully through her hillbilly dance, however she was wearing green sparkly pants that would seem more suited for disco, not Daniels.
— We all know you can do a lot with duct tape, and even more with that gold plastic tape that granted is a bit harder to tear. Has their been enough of this newfound warmth of weather to allow gold lame pants, like the makeshift ones I wore (and were called really lame) with such tape to cover a big and in this case unfashionable tear in back by my butt. It became basically a back pocket protector — although some thought this was just as improper as the rip itself, after they’d been drinking at home. Not cool like the small and multiple tears in gal’s jeans, or their sequined stitchery in the same spot that concerned me.
— Despite the essentially three-day holiday and what it invariably entails, super social Sarah, a longtime bartender going back to pre-Ellie’s Days, ran a 5K early on St. Pat’s Day. More impressive than my pants.
— Is he Amish or Irish? A heavily bearded man who also dressed like the former, had on a green hat and same colored beer T-shirt. We’ll vote Irish. That was right before a huge crowd flowed into Dick’s at last call the day of … Would the Irish do that? Probably the night of the holiday itself, not the Offical Recovery Mode Followup Day. But that still didn’t keep pro patron Stephanie from sporting a stocking cap with some white but also plenty of green, especially the cloth ball at the top not unlike a folded up shamrock.
— Don’t drink and drive and press your luck, the DOT sign said on the freeway. Aside from driving part, isn’t that playing out the Luck Of The Irish?
— This being Hudson far west the weekend before the bigger holiday, Lucky Palooza played out on West Seventh Street in St. Paul with two booth types, for food and of course beer and such, and also had band tents with lively Irish-music, big screen TVs the size of a basketball foul-shot-lane but then much rain. However people carried on, especially some of the most attractive 21-year-olds you will find, either indulging or serving at places like McGoverns. They were super tipsy, but one of them still manage a smile for me.
— Then there’s Hudson far east, as in Cheap Andy’s officially in Hammond, which had beachballs, not beach volleyball or bean bags, being bounced around the scant snow that still existed on a pair of sand courts. Meanwhile, back in downtown Hudson, there was found a slip of paper with email address for Any, who despite being cheap really gets around.
— Girl Scout cookies were being sold for a few weeks in three different spots that I saw, including very rarely in this case outside, as the early-on cold required stickers to be taped over gas pump grade buttons directing buyers to come inside where it was dozens of degrees warmer. These cookies must have been premium.
— I saw more than a week ago the first late-night umbrella of the season, followed by one more such siting the next night and shortly after a full yellow plastic poncho (is that standard bar attire along the lines of what that little black dress could be in three months or so?) And then I could invoke the chatty guy I noticed in a standard three-piece suit coming out of the Smilin’ Moose, and continuing on with the gab as going down the sidewalk. Prepping for that a.m. business meeting proposal?
— That’s one of those places where you really need your spelling right. So I enter this version of a household Irish word that apparently gets butchered quite a bit, found in a weekend scratch-game ad: Eirinn Go Brach. It even had apostraphies about the first and last name.
— Not to the point of an ice dam, but dripping water froze and made slippery a few parts of Dick’s smoking patio, so people commented on more than just the ice cubes in their drinks. And earlier, jogging past various such places were members of the high school cross country team, and it had been warm enough for them to be wearing thin knit sweatshirts, although having collars you mind.
— All day partying, to conclude this over-the-top weekend, in St. Paul begs the question. Which state’s flooding is worse? And if dressing down not up, in green, what about the proverbial high heels? They only save from wetness half of the foot. But as an old bartending friend said, they do make her and other womens’ legs look shapely. As if fair Irish lasses need any help in that area!
— Gunning the accelerator through ponding? Hurt your car’s engine block, as a mechanic I know suggested? I over-rule. Must hit the next Irish hot spot.
— The Friday before was the international women’s day, so to celebrate, since your favorite hot bartender is, obviously, female, give her an extra big tip. And since it was on a Friday, one of the busiest bar nights, there’s plenty of fodder to borrow her for a moment, say you appreciate the service, and fit in that buck or two. But wait a minute. Did I say this passed on last Friday? Hey, this is so important, as the ladies are VERY important, that there should be a whole womens weekend, or week, or month, so there’s still plenty of time for that big tip. Cuz its all about keeping them happy, because of the service they do, and HudsonWiNightlife is all on board with using its where-with-all to make sure the extension happens — or am I being a bit delusional about the weight I can throw around?
— One other business that had some short-term snow-addled complications for access — not nearly as easy as just dragging your late-night butt down to the corner bar — was our unit at Badger State Storage in Houlton. Note what side of the icy St. Croix River this is on. Would it be better to be from Iowa? Beating, (weatherwise?) things Minnesconsin? Now their newest challenge, of course is to defeat the ponding that seems to be everywhere.
— A group that bills itself as St. Croix spirituality and awakening, as well separately as a local minister who also had a rough patch with snow being removed from his roof, found it was much harder than battling Satan, and that could include a late-night scenario when the dam really hit — so to speak — but maybe they could have prayed harder. They both had to cancel out of their evening events. Reminds me of a Wiccan group who made a collective effort to see if they could use meditation to change the temperatures. The result? There was a drop of a few degrees, but not enough to be conclusive about the power of their actions. But back to locally: The same group has advertised a spiritual spring cleaning, although that’s maybe ahead of schedule. I have to reference some lyrics from Stairway to Heaven: If there’s a bustle in your hedgerow don’t be alarmed now. Its just a spring clean for the May Queen. This is an obvious reference to the May Day and nature-based pagan observance that the Christians co-opted centuries later. I posed that theory in a column for the Hudson Star-Observer during my time with them, and asked if anyone agreed or disagreed, or thought my explanation would go over with readers like a Led Zeppelin (or balloon), as was suggested by disparagingly by The Who, and that ended up giving the rock band its name. What, no comments forthcoming? Guess that shows how many people read the local rag.
— And what do all these entities have in store for us, as far as our perceptions? Late night coming back home, I thought I saw a set of bunny ears up high that had a widespread forehead, only to notice that it was actually a string of mailboxes with the flags positioned upward on the ends. Then there was a car plowing through the nearly nightly snow that had its wheels darkened and a white frame, so that it looked like there were a pair of deer running on ahead of me — sloshing through whats become a swamp. Guess that’s what can happen if your license plate and headlights are frosty with a dusting of snow, or sleet, which is what I saw with a third vehicle.
— A guy I met downtown just the other week, in the warm climes that are indoors with patio, could have sworn that right before entry someone walked the sidewalk path that was subject of continuing snow buildup, just two minutes ahead of him. With the snow cascading, he was shocked to see that the footprints had already disappeared from view, in basically the time it takes to down a shot of Jag. With that time-a-wasting-with-the-changing-weather story, there’s just not enough leeway to spell out the full name of Hudson’s Most Wanted drink, next to beer.