Wednesday was the most boring day I’ve had in years. I mean it. Years. Nothing was of interest. Nothing held my attention. I pushed through like a sleepwalker in a bookstore. Went to work, put in the column, did a video, listened to this and that, made dinner, chatted with daughter, played with the dog - all the things that would qualify any day as a delight, but fell flat today -

Because it was the day before Thanksgiving, and Wednesday just feels like waiting for Thursday. Getting ready for Thursday. Not starting anything big because tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Wondering what needs to be done? Nothing. We’re fine.


Fine rhymes with wine


So, off in the car in the evening to TOTAL WINE (and spirits) where prices are so low you’ll just plotz; I think that’s the slogan. Place is packed. It’s one of those days where everyone has a shopping cart full of bottles. You know, seasonal Thanksgiving traditions like spiced whiskey.

Spiced whiskey is like flavored coffee. It’s hiding something. I mean, imagine Bogart taking a drink and frowning and saying “where’s the cinnamon? I was promised a long, lingering burn.”

Anyway: Happy Thanksgiving! The graphic above is the culmination of an Arrow shirt ad - as you've seen the story unfold, a man was chasing a tueky with an axe, but was distracted by Arrow shirts. His decision to purchase one led to a renunciation of meat eating, and a substitution of the lowliest form of canned fish for the family feast. No one cares because it's a good-looking shirt.


As for the Turkification of food products, there's not much. This is all I found, really.

You can always depend on the Doughboy to commemorate any holiday. The fall hues are off, at least for Minnesota, where it's dead white here without a leaf to be seen. But somehow Thansgiving is generally assumed to be a brown-and-orange thing, even though the Halloween images always show empty bare trees.

The branches in the upper-right corner tell you where the leaves are coming from, in case you thought that an immense windstorm brought them in from a few states away.

Without those branches, people would be confused.

An annual treat here at the Bleat:

What makes the young boy so alarmed we will never know. Sis has moved ahead with her life and accepts such things with implacable indifference. That's the way things are. That's just part of life.




Elsewhere: While researching a video on downtown hotels, I found a menu from the Dyckman. At the top, blunt talk about diets:

Not a term anyone would use today; it would be insulting. I mean, really? Ladies?

Then there's this sign of bygone times:

"I'll have the United Nations Special." Was there some link betwixt international organizations and Hash we've lost, or some vernaculiar association that links Raisin Rice Custard to the idea of post-war concords?

That's all for today, which I believe you can understand. But there's Fargo up there on the right.

Holiday! Back tomorrow.



blog comments powered by Disqus