This is the Celebration Day song of bad sweaters, and fuzzy antlers, and Santa hats, all stemming from the now-holiday-ish classic Coyote Ugly

Say, the sweaters have come, and they along with fuzzy antlers and Santa hats are worn well while tipsy just prior to mid-month, dominating the local bar landscape:
— Psst., hey buddy, want to get your ugly sweater just in time for the holidays, and not spend so much money that it might negate the prize you’d hope to win! Too late. Manager Jolene at Treasures of the Heart in River Falls said the other day that concerning the several racks totally devoted to these kind of outfits by the big front windows, right past the cash register, when you first walk into their big store, they have been virtually out of such costumes almost since the beginning of the month. So how do you get really ugly? To the point of everyone’s distain, mark my words, you might go as the babes in Coyote Ugly, although they’ll get away with it much more easily than you will if a typical, once-a-year-out kind of guy doing the embarrassing Christmas party thing. For better results seeking that kind of attention with your sweater, make it sexy like the infamous Jolene in the Dolly Parton song.
— Yes, the apparently late, great George H W Bush has passed on and do you think you can get any other news, like how your sports team did the night before, while watching the big screen TV at your local haunt? Quite frankly, despite the cliche “one thousand points of light,” which was referenced in an open-mic cover song by Neil Young played mid-week, I found his presidency average at best, very vanilla. So what’s with all the fuss? Can’t wait until we see what they do with last-man-standing, Jimmy Carter, as far as a eulogy. I’d did later notice that the elder Bush was thought to be one of a pair of the last great statesmen. And these old presidents have showed up elsewhere too, such as on the Golf Channel taking their swing. Bill Clinton and the younger Bush were being given a soapbox to spout their views not on politics, but on which iron to choose, at the length in minutes matches the longest version, of many, to Stairway To Heaven.
— All this makes me recall being a photog of the day for the local paper at a Christian music fest in Lakefront Park, where a band that was making a feeble try at being true rockers was attempting the latest, newest, greatest guitar solo. It was said that God must of smiled on the performance, which was called being of blazing fingers, but in reality it was very boilerplate, like those thousands of ax-men who now can easily champion Jimi Hendrix, as if that was anything beyond the most basic in the 2000s. (And for Christian leaning music, check out the lyrics for All Along The Watchtower, one of the most popular by Hendrix by way of its frequent coming-about references to the two men who were crucified alongside of Christ).
— And I am well known for singing that song like no other when with Jeff Loven, holding the last note for the unheard of half-minute — to the point where right off the bat, he turned my mic off and instructed me not to sing over his guitar solo. I’m OK with that. But before I got shut off, just ask former band member Geno, who when first walking into the joint said,”who is that shreading it! Oh my God, its Joey.” He since has stopped playing and started working day employment, in part fueled by an invitation to perform up in North Dakota at the new-Old-West that has accompanied the lawlessness arriving with the massive oil riggings. (Even beyond Urban Cowboy.) Geno is a Christian and wanted to incorporate that into his music, but with not having substantial offerings, up and left for the main Hudson industrial park.
So what’s new about all this? An old friend who I have not seen for many years, put a note on my windshield that said, amongst other phrases, Hendrix4ever!” and asked me to call her for a drink and perhaps singing. I have tried several times, to no avail, so I am now listed this shout-out: Robin, get in touch with me!”
— What is with all the household pets, cats and dogs mostly but not totally, that are going missing and the request to help find them — even through the hours of the night, when many of us would be too bleery eyed to fully recognize them — is put on locally-based social media? The one that really surprised me is the all-call to locate a goldfish, which sadly ended then the remains were found in the St. Croix after having been lunch for a great big catfish. Just kidding about that last part. “Oh grow up,” as the late Joan Rivers would have said. Especially since new zoning provisions would limit residences to two cats or dogs.
— Lying in a snowbank on a downtown evening was a single pink glove, like one that presumably could have been worn by Michael Jackson, continuing his becoming-more-effeminent ways. But later that night there was seen a glove in the snow that could have been a match, only in a sort of different color. Add two items of clothing to the feet, and you might, at least temporarily, have the what fairy’s wear star of that old Black Sabbath song, “A Pair of Boots Dancing With a Glove.” And one other middle-aged guy out around the same time lost his remaining black glove, and yet another young girl her black glove. Could that help, months later, to yield a foul-smelling followup to Spinal Tap’s “Smell The Glove?”
— Bartenders can be out there with their dress and demeanor, but one would think this scenario would be a cause for more conservatism in behavior. One of the North Hudson servers is being invited to travel to the family dinner of a co-worker — its platonic — in the same line of work for the holidays. Would you, (1) think that someone who was in that profession would be the ideal choice to meet mom and dad, and (2) after the intro is done, maybe everybody could use a good, stiff drink.
— Ever feel that need to pee, and it was already way past last call, so you had to do what you had to do. Just face a fine for public urination. With that said, I saw a sign that made it clear, no public “dumping.” Well, we would hope not … All these things were underscored at home when all the water was turned off for a couple of days to allow a repair. New meaning to the value of “the woods.” Or the answer to all such things, the nearby Freedom Station and its restrooms.
— There was a car bumper sticker that turned SuperCaliFragileIsticExBealAdosis into a naughty paraphrase. And although it was made up of about seven words, it is not a limerick. Like to see the same to describe the two different Christmas trees tied together to the top of a midsize auto.