This week’s Bleat Banners have all been shots from a couple weeks ago, when I took pix for a story on the empty skyways. I’ve probably spent too much time wandering the empty corridors over the last few . . . months, is it? It’s not good for the soul. I've gotten some nice shots, though.

Last Wednesday, as usual, I went to the office.

It gets even wilder and more reckless: I had lunch at the office.

Yes, brought my lunch, had it at my desk. There was no one here. The same white noise from the ventilation system. The same arrangement on my desk as before; computer’s on. The same familiar beep of the microwave; haven’t heard that in months, seemed a comfort to hear it again. I unerapped my sandwich and had the tuna - Thai Red Curry flavored, quite delicious - with some Bistro Chips from Old Dutch, and a can of water. I used to have some licorice in the drawer for afters, but I took that when I decamped.

It gets stale once opened. Couldn't let it sit there for a whole two weeks.

Everything everywhere frozen. This time there wasn’t anyone at the office. Monitors still black. Papers piled, undisturbed. I walked down to the end of the Mall to take the picture of construction, and didn’t see any more people than usual, or any fewer.

On the other hand: a flower.

 

How's Birch? you ask. He's fine.

We're all fine, but little seems fine, except it is fine, except when it's not. So you stop thinking about it.

Let's see what nonsense we found on the Internet this week.

Oh no the Cat-killing Blimps

A mistake, of course. This is not:

A sim, of course; alternate history is fun. Let things go sideways and this would probably be the official Chinese line about WW2.

Oh yeah? You say that's not how it happened? Prove it.

One of the things about 1984 that felt so chilling was the absence of linear time, the sense that everything was stuck in an eternal present, and the past was a dream that persisted but could never be defined or recalled; you just knew you'd had that dream.

This is certainly persuasive:

That would be Bragg's, right? Bon Appetit:

 PAUL C. BRAGG (1881/1895-1976) stands out as one of the most brazen, prevaricating rapscallions of them all . . .

. . . Starting with his birthdate, which he pushed back to 1881 in order to give the impression he looked much younger than his years, Bragg lied his way to prominence as a lecturer and nutrition adviser to the gullible stars of early Hollywood; much of what he claimed about his own past (military service, tubercular lungs, Olympic wrestling career, his restoration of his ailing sister’s health, a Ph.D. and medical degree) was also invented.

Perhaps "belly fat" is burned off by frequent trips to the bathroom.

You know, of all the sources to crow about this, "Russia Today" might be - for once - quite trustworthy.

HET VLAD THEY'RE CALLED RECTANGLES

Nicollet Tower block: third story coming right up.

It's going to connect to the library via skyway, which will make for some interesting interpersonal dynamics.

 

From my vast collection of things with almost no monetary value whatsover, I bring you this week's entry.

Part of the USSR's commemoration of the Antarctica expedition. It was the 9th.

The wikipedia entry is helpful, noting that it was preceded by the Eighth, and succeeded by the Tenth.

 

Hah: that's actually a Twin Cities suburb. And a nice one, too. Didn't know they had a gang problem in the late 40s.

 

Solution is here.

 

 

 

   

Hell-lo ev'ybody, it must be the first Friday of the month! The strange talkin' & singin' radio show that ran in California markets long, long ago.

 

We're thinkin' about . . . thinkin'.

 

   
 

 

Heavy

 

     
 

 

Oh I think we're prepared for "broad statements," Tom

 

 

 

We had a time

 

     
     

Wikipedia:

The characters, publisher Jerry North and his wife Pam, lived in Greenwich Village at 24 St. Anne's Flat. They were not professional detectives but simply an ordinary couple who stumbled across a murder or two every week for 12 years. 

As one did. More next week.

 

She's possibly thinking of someine else. The guy in the back really has that Fred Flintstone 5 o'clock shadow.

Looks like fun, until you bank your head into the mirrored ball.

 

   

 

 

 

The arrangement is very 40s, sweet swing orchestration. May have sounded dated, but not to the people who bought this to relive more youthful years.

   

   

 

 
Chicken Delight. "Pauline, jerome here."
   

Hey, that was a week! Maybe the next one will be better in small but undeniable ways. Have a good weekend, and we'll be back with more on Monday.

 

 

 
blog comments powered by Disqus