Riots in town, rain in the evening, tornado sirens, and a general feeling that the season should be renamed Glummer. Started out fine, though. Went to work wearing a tie, which is ridiculous, but one must keep up standards. I have the feeling I’ll be alone all summer long in the place.

Alone feels normal now.

But alone is not normal, and it’s compounded by a new instinct that says other people are dangerous. Mere proximity is contagion, and contagion = death, probably. If that’s not what you think, then you are doubly dangerous. I hate this. I hate it. Institutional anti-social paranoia feels so damned Soviet. I hate the way “muh freedom” has become a jokey, easy piece of contempt on the pro-lockdown side, knowing that this gives them absolutely no standing the next time something they prize is forbidden by the state.

Oh, sorry; ranting. That’s for later!

Well, what do you want to know? I had a salami sandwich for the second day in a row, with French’s garlic mustard. Sublime. I paired it with Sour Cream and Dill potato chips, and finished with a small log of particularly piquant licorice from a local manufacturer. At the end of the workday I left the office, only to discover I had forgotten my wallet at my desk. Sigh: go to the security desk, get a badge to go up to our own security desk . . .

. . . except I don’t know if there’s anyone there anymore. Relief: there was one co-worker who also goes to the office, and she brought down my wallet. It was a momentary reminder that one’s membership in the world of downtown resides entirely on possession of a card, and all the things you take for granted - pushing a button, badging a card reader, whooshing upstairs - is predicated on the possession of an item whose revocation will remand you to the outside world forever.

The loss of belonging is one of those things that accompanies unemployment, and to marry that with institutionalized distance from other people must be a hard, hard blow. Even Satan, cast out of heaven, had the consolation of his own domain.

You know, I had some peculiar tweets lined up to discuss, but they’ll be just as ridiculous next week. Even more so, since the certainties of panic age poorly. No one holds them accountable, though, since the people who’d do that share the general catastrophism and dismay. It’s a pity your remarks about the certainty of mass horror weren’t born out by events, but hey: there’s always tomorrow.

One can always hope, and even better, one can always hope for the worse.

Let’s see, what else. More driving lessons with Daughter, who - and this is worrisome - is feeling quite comfortable behind the wheel. I am a fairly saturnine instructor, given to low-key remarks - see, now, if you hadn’t turned as I suggested, we would have been in a head-on collision, or I advise you de-accelerate instead of SLOW DOWN!!! She wants to get her license so she can drive to work later this summer.

Also: at supper we were talking about Costco, since they supplied the ribs, and mentioned off-hand that I had a picture of Daughter playing the piano at Costco when she was, like, six.

“No way,” Wife said. “We didn’t have a Costco membership then.”

“We did,” I said.

“You’re thinking of Target.”

“With a piano? No, it was Costco.”

“Why would we have a Costco membership?”

Daughter chimed in and said she would have remembered, so no.

“I have a picture of her playing the piano at Costo, and in the same sequence there’s a picture of a big box of iPods.”

“You’re thinking of Best Buy. We did not have a Costco membership.”

Sigh. Mind you, I haven’t been to this store in ten years. We have a membership now, but Wife goes there.

“Let me describe the store,” I said. “You walk in, there’s consumer electronics on the right. Clothes in the middle. Office supplies and sundries to the right further on, then books in the middle. Food at the far end. On the left side of the store, health items in the front, then staples in large quantities.”

Wife: stares

Daughter: “that’s pretty much how it is now.”

Wife: “We never had a Costco membership.”

Me, after dinner: go upstairs, quick search on family archives, find pictures, throw them in the cloud, return to the dinner table.

"Is anyone going to challenge my memory again anytime soon? No? Okay then."

I was tempted to get out that Nano from the basement box of archived text, but, well, salt in the wound, and so on.




It’s 1969.


I do like the design, for its time; the news cascades down, greater to lesser.

The Center Street bridge is easy enough to find . . .

The Riverview seems much smaller in real life.


The Buddha Truce, I gather, was a cease-fire around the birthday of the Big B; nothing specific comes up in Google.

By 1969 this new was wearisome, I’ll bet. More and more, grinding on, grinding on.


Ah, the Aquarius crap.

Because it was the dawning of the age of, you know. Peace and harmony would rule the world! Seems to be the biggest refutation of astrology in song form you’ll ever here.

Debbie Allredge had the neatest hairs and Teresa Wright was the prettiest.

I wonder when "Zodiac" went out of fashion, and people started saying "astrology" because it sounded scientific. "Zodiac" had a bad run, what with all the unexplained killings.


Uh - Lou Grant? His wikipedia entry says “Grant was memorialized by Ed Asner in the television show The Lou Grant Show, for MTM productions."

That’s interesting. Did Lou - fictional Lou, that is - mention the real one? The author can’t mean the real guy was the inspiration for the MTM Lou, although it’s possible they lifted the name.

Cedric Adams at the Minneapolis Star had “Thoughts While Shaving.” Well:

I miss these old conversational, inessential columns.

That’s not bad.

Dave Huffine, about whom the internet has little to say.

I’m not sure I should provide context for this.

Death salutes the cars that drive so fast they knock kids clear to vietnam! This appeared on a different page than the editorial cartoon above, by the way.



All of them.


That'll do. Last of the 30s ads; on to different stuff from the 40s next week, as we move through the year.




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