Odd week. I suppose that’s good; it means that all the things that have changed the landscape and the course of the day still feel wrong, and will be wrong until the stores open and the boards come down and the concrete barriers with spray-painted hammer-and-sickles are dragged away, and the office is full again, and the skyways are full, and the skyway restaurants have lines, and you don’t double back to your car because you forgot the hand sanitizer.

We still expect that day to come. But we all know that things will feel permanently shifted. It’s like the national spine was cracked in two places, and however it heals, our gait will be different.

Or not. Perhaps the week was odd because the old norm - which was a new thing earlier in the year - was sundered in a second, and now we don’t have the merry foursome at the dinner table, or the evening Tv viewing with the Gorls watching Grey’s Anatomy. Rotaria was trying to burn through the whole thing before she left, and every time I walked past the TV before dinner or between 8 and 9, there was something awful happening in what appeared to be the worst hospital in the country. Everyone had so many problems.

"I’m heading into brain surgery on a quirky character who's outspoken but funny, this episode's comic relief, but first we have to talk about our relationship."

"I'm not taking you back. I'm sorry. Oh, don't be angry, your hands are shaking. Did you say you were heading into -"

"I don't care. I love you."

"I know, but don't worry, you weren't renewed for next season. They're writing you out. You won't even know what happened."

"What do you mean, writing me out? My agent didn't say anything about that."

"My part is written by the show runner, remember? Now get in there and perform a medical miracle so we can cut to some interns having sex in a closet."

Anyway, that's over. Things end. Old ways return. Daughter is back in her room, and we had the first shout-down-the-hall riposte exchange from our respective writing studios, and it made me smile: I remember this. We're doing driving lessons again to get her license, but I still take her to work and pick her up, another good time to laugh or argue.

July is fleet-footed month, and I'd best not take it for granted. Still haven't heard the first cicada, though.

I'll keep you posted.

Elsewhere: What?

How can there be a national coin supply shortage when no one's using them?

Do we just think "oh that makes sense, everything's different, I guess, oh well, good bye coins"? and leave it at that?

But it's true.

According to the Federal Reserve, the coronavirus pandemic is causing the coin shortage. When the pandemic caused businesses to close, it slowed or even stopped the flow of coins through the economy. Also, the U.S. Mint's coin production decreased due to COVID-19 measures meant to protect its employees. 

But top men are on it. Top. Men:

The Federal Reserve has created a U.S. Coin Task Force to address the problem. Task force members represent all major participants in the coin supply chain. They'll give their first set of recommendations by the end of the month. 

I had no idea.

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

It's . . . a fishing operation in the sea as seen from a prison camp?

Found an online bidding site that said it's "dredging in delta."

This thing is taking forever to get off the ground. It's been averaging a story a month for the last two months. Which is to say, two stories in two months. But that's because the pit is deep and the base is thick.

Why do I show this?

The other side of the street. Since the Nicollet Hotel went down decades ago, the lovely blue facade of the old Federal Reserve (not the old old Federal Reserve) has reflected only sky. Taht's about to change.

The weekly 5 second sweep, from RBC to the new apartment tower going up on the other side of Hennepin.





Solution is here.





Hello, ev'ry body! Hello!, What philosophical concept are we beating to death today?

Let's talk about . . . trifles.




Love your enemies, but not yourself




"While sittin' there with a pistol, 'bout to blow out his brains"




Bye now





I don't really think Ed Sullivan arranged, orchestrated, conducted, or did anything withn this group except lend his name and collect the checks.







1960. What do you do when you want to put off mentioning your product, and what it does, for as long as possible?

Theren you have it - not a bad week here on the site. Next week's going to be better. Have a good weekend, and we'll start it all up again on Monday.



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