I’m sautéing chicken or cooking or whatever you call it when you put it in a pan and warm-up the chunks; what do I look like, Gorgon Ramses? Or whoever. Ding dong! Could be a neighbor who needs a cup of sugar, or a friend of daughter returning something left behind; I run to the door. It’s someone from MPIRG, the Minnesota Public Interest Research Group. I say with regret that I have chicken cooking on the pan, and it’s dinner time shortly thereafter.
Well great if I could just take 30 seconds to describe the Zero Waste Initiative
No. No you can’t. Even if my line about the chicken wasn’t true, which it is, I would offered a similar line to conclude this conversation with a modicum of civility. My actual response is this: you are bothering me with your pet cause. I do not bother you with mine. I do not slap a police light on my car and wave you over and once you have the window down ask if I could tell you about architectural preservation. Also Zero Waste? Are you insane? If you want to zero out what you dispose, that’s fine, but I’m pretty darn sure your effort involves law and coercion, and I’m not interested in assuaging your personal campaigns and I am certainly not interesting in sorting out organic goop into fetid bins every summer. I recycle as much as I can, I haven’t bought a stick of furniture in 15 years, we drive old cars, and I telecommute a good deal. BACK OFF.
Well can I circle back in around an hour?
Sure! By all means, whatever I got going on in an hour I’d be glad to sunder the momentum to stand in the doorway and listen to something and then sign something and then feel as if my soul has been washed in the stream of the Holy Petition. Now if I could have your address I’d like to circle back to your house around midnight to talk about Lord Vishnu, because that’s important to me and that’s a time I like to bother people.
I said no it’s a busy night. Busy meaning “we will be living our lives as we choose,” and then I mentioned the chicken, and I got a tight smile in return.
I'm sorry. And I'm sorry no one was home next door. And I'm sorry everyone else on the block gave you the old "I'm making dinner" routine, but it was dinner time, and that's why you were here, no?
To interrupt us? As I said: you're rude.
The St. Patrick's Day parade was as fun as I expected. More so, except colder. We were up on the second floor of a parking ramp, in the shade. You can see our vantage point here: perfect reviewing stand.
In the sun it was nice. In the shade my knees were knocking after an hour outside. Vaneeta and I did color commentary on the event over the live feed. No IFB, so I couldn't hear what I was saying in my ear, but no matter. As I said the other day: column one day, parade commentary the next? How can I not love my job.
Let's take a look at St. Paul, the other Twin City. The one that went into politics. Downtown suffered from urban renewal just as Minneapolis did, but the buildings they built in the stead of the old brick piles were ten times worse. O modern architecture, so respectful of the human scale:
Let your heart soar as the skyline beguiles your enraptured eyes!
Then again, you turn around 45 degrees, and you see this:
The building in the foreground had an old Ghost Sign, covered by the parking ramp. Hard to get it all, but I snapped a segment:
Took me a while, but got it: John E. Blomquist. If they were still around, they'd probably have a less personal name. Something like, oh, I don't know, JEBCO.
On the way to the event, we passed a garage on the edge of town - hadn't been the edge originally, but when the freeway slices through downtown it makes edges were there was once continuity. Saw an old truck inside, like an ancient lion basking in the sun in his cage.
I wonder if it's there on Street View.
The Delivery Trucks haven't rumbled out of these bays for a long, long time.
Just so you know, I've lost all patience and interest in Brick Bradford, but I'm not going to bail on two serials in a row. It would set a bad precedent. The next one will be different, I promise - even though I'm sure it'll have a Strange Machine, a Scientist, fistfights, and take place in the California hills for half the episodes. I say this not knowing which one I'll do, but experience suggests that'll be the case.
Anyway. Two more left. We conclude next week. Ready for an insensate geological feature to have emotions?
Let’s bring everyone up to speed. This is exactly how the recap begins. You might say the source material isn’t in the crispest shape.
Uh. Yeah. When last we left Brick he had struck his head on a tree branch, causing animated stars. But no! It wasn’t Brick. He rolled out of the way and the crook suffered a fatal brain injury. The camera lingered on his spasming body, a horrible stain spreading across the front of his trousers.
Or so it might today. Nowadays the guy just lies still. Anyway, they’re trying to find the stolen equipment, which is more more interesting than traveling to the moon or going back in time. Chasing scientific equipment.
Brick and Sandy, about whom we care nothing, head back to the Science Shack; meanwhile, the criminals - who are standing around in the countryside in three-piece suits - are discussing how the various factions have fallen out, and there’s this rich guy who’s trying to buy Dr. Tymak’s secret machinery. Back at the Science Shack, Brick has his sort-of-girlfriend guard the place while he goes out looking for the bad guys. She objects.
True, nothing of value. All his inventions were stolen. EXCEPT FOR THE DOOR THAT TRANSPORTS PEOPLE TO THE MOON.
What follows is seven minutes of people walking around in the desert and occasionally running to other people, resulting in happy reunions or fistfights. Back at the Science Shack, the gal friday tires of her mission and decides to go Help somehow, which means she’ll provide the final cliffhangers. Meanwhie Brick and Sandy having a fistfight with the Gang, and you know, it’s been a long while since we’ve seen some classic serial fisticuffs. Here you go.
Brick and Sandy lose the fight, so they’re tied up, and Sandy is booby-trapped so when he retains consciousness and moves it will pull a string attached to a trigger, and fire a gun they wedged in the rocks, pointed at Brick.
Classic villain error, but again, it’s the code. You can’t directly shoot anyone you’re arching.
So, ladies and gentlemen: I give you the last clliffhanger in the Brick Bradford series. Ready?
That would be your aforementioned river.
That's it for today - Tumblr is loaded up and running again, and there'll be workblog around 12:30. See you around!