The ‘flakes inside are frightful, and so ‘badass’ they’re so delightful … so let it snow!

It’s that time of year, and like many things, snowflake prominence might depend on how well they are hung:

— Bartender Beth at the Village Inn in North Hudson was making snowflake decorations on kind of slow consecutive weeknights. She was incorporating the eager help of some of her patrons, one of whom said about his intricate creation, “You’ve got to admit, this is totally badass.” Considering the holiday that’s at hand, I don’t know if that last word is one I would choose, but hey … She then dangled her handiwork above a table by the front window and added, “I just wish the sparkly things were (facing) both sides.”
— The Smilin’ Moose has its own snowflake saga. While there are the standard paper creations outside, at some spots indoors are big snowflakes carved out of wood and dangling from the ceiling. That might be what you’d expect from a “lodge” bar and grill that’s heavy on wooden decor.
— A sign you might want to keep in mind while holiday shopping, and knowing this is a season of celebrating and possibly indulging a bit. Outside the Village Liquor store in North Hudson: “No one regifts the gifts from us.”
— Kudos for grill and bar establishments on The Hill, among others, for closing on Thanksgiving, for the benefit of employees. At one of those, Buffalo Wild Wings, a conversation with workers was held where they noted the company would probably have found it lucrative to be open, because of three high-profile pro football games that included Brett Favre’s number being retired by the Packers. However, the high road was taken, in part since a precedent for hours had already been set and consistency was valued.
— With temps dipping below freezing, some late-night shoppers in early December were dressed like it was still early fall when traversing the parking lot. One wore a tight, light-weight T-shirt, then walking the other direction was a woman sporting a lot of bare midrift and a short leather miniskirt. No bah humbug here!
— Speaking of that kind of attire, seen downtown were patrons with dress, hair and overall similar looks to singers Rihanna, Taylor Swift, Pitbull and yes, that guy from the “twenty dollars in my pocket” video. And, a while back at the Green Mill, a bartender said that at the seat I’d taken, just moments ago, was someone who looked just like the songstress Pink. On the other end of the spectrum, longtime Dibbo’s bartender Forrest, when he has a bellhop at a prominent Twin Cities hotel earlier in his career, recalls running into Mick Jagger on an elevator, and rather than strut his stuff, Jagger instructed the local man to turn his head because he had a cold — not something you’d want to catch if you have to take the stage and sing in the evening.
— Lastly, guest singer Jesse got on stage with the one-man band in an infrequent duet and sang a Stone Temple Pilots song in honor of the late Scott Weiland, who was found dead in the tour bus outside such a motel as in the Jagger sighting, this time in Bloomington.

Share the Post:

Related Posts

Just over two years ago, I sang solo an Iron Maiden song, Blood Brothers, slowly strummed via my cell phone to provide the instrumental, as the exact moment my dad was laid to his final rest under clay. A few weeks ago, one-man-band professional Jeff Loven, one of the best musicians I have ever heard and one with whom I have sung for 25 years, strummed the favorite Johnny Cash songs his father loved in the background for the last hour his dad had on this earth, the troubles of which Cash so frequently sang. Certainly, one of them was Hurt,...
A hodgepodge listing of everything that’s truly different but maybe baked porage follows, and we’re not talking about a connect-the-dots or puzzle-pieces contest or one on Trump’s foreign policy, haha, rather what I saw and what will be seen around town in recent times. Mostly, one of each. Think you have the world’s, or more likely local church’s, best grilled cheese sandwich, (coming from the land of, specifically, well curded and curdled milk and honey?) Fry it to the test on Saturday. No this is not an autumn chili cookoff, or char the best burger, or even a poker run...
Music in the trees? It conjures up images of a poet wearing millenniums-ago robe and sandals while playing a lute and propped onto the fourth fork of a bigger-than-usual apple tree and doing a balancing act on his ass while he sings a soliloquy or a soffit. Maybe taking a bite in-between verses, to match what listeners chomped on if they hauled it in down long nature paths, making for dinner and a show with duos and trios, and one huge and elaborate band. Well didn’t quite get that lute-ist. Or a bassist so high on life and so-forth stoned...
Questions everywhere? These days, how do you dismiss an ad or a politician, or whoever or whatever pops up and occupies your computer screen, or mailbox, electronic or otherwise? And did that answer in the form of a package or letter or even air waves — coming from a pol or a pool? — ever actually arrive, like all those ads and flyers? Maybe it never will? And surely not written with a quill. As one friend just reminded me, it all starts with one problem leading into another set of problems. Or, like a volcano boiling and brewing and...
Scroll to Top