The summer nights have been unparalleled in all ways: clement evenings, choruses of crickets, the occasional hell-storm that rolls through at one and bangs and flashes and dashes gouts against the windows. For a strange, sullen summer, it’s had its beauty.

There’s always beauty. The trick consists of not investing too much in its unstudied manifestations. I mean - and I wouldn’t have to explain if I’d bothered to write a clear sentence that wasn’t so pretentious - natural beauty is great, fantastic, can’t live without it, but it has no morals, no higher purposes, and its aesthetics are filtered through our consciousness. A gorgeous sunset is a stage for some small creature getting eaten alive; the mountains at dawn don’t care if everyone who beholds them is dead or alive, or good or bad. I’ve always felt a certain reserve when it comes to unfiltered pure nature, because the admiration and respect only goes one way.

Who’s to say these crickets aren’t plotting revenge? For what, you might ask. I used to clear crickets out of the Tires / Batteries / Accessories warehouse, and that involved some smushing. I don’t know why I was set to that task, but it’s possible Dad thought it was something I could do that was unlikely to result in an explosion, a battery-acid burn, or running my hand through the chamois mangler.

He did let me throw cherry bombs into the culvert, though. Probably wasn’t much gas in there. Boosh! Just like the Pacific Theater, huh dad?

Yes, of course, just like it. (Fareaway stare)

No, that’s not what I said, and he wouldn’t have had a haunted reaction. He only mentioned the war to note that he had been in it, and did so as a self-deprecating routine. I was in the big one, you know. W - W - two.

The big one. I think about that phrase from time to time. I was looking at the picture of the Block Island, the one that hung in the laundry room all my childhood, and now hangs in my studio. What it must have been like to be on a big ship, how the view from the deck must have seemed to a farm kid, how beautiful the endless ocean. How it would drink you down without a thought, because it had none.







NOT A REVIEW, because who cares. Although also sort of a review - I mean, I'm going to tell you if it's obviously bad and no one should see it.

Last week I watched. . . what was it called, originally? DETWOOF, or DETFOCHF. The dialogue was mostly Flemish. Courtroom drama, with an emphasis on the jury members - hence the name. It’s “The Twelve” in English.

After a few eps the sound of the language was irresistible. I couldn’t wait for someone to say BRECHTE VIN-DE-VOGEL. This may be the first time anyone has described Flemish as euphonious. Perhaps I was just in the mood to hear something that was completely removed from English, and set in the colorless modern antiseptic world of the EU.

This guy - Mr. Spaak - is great.

LOOK AT THAT LAWYER. Teleported out of the 19th century. He’s not a showy lawyer. I can’t tell if he’s making deviously subtle points, because I don’t speak the language. The beard is great. He just has presence, that’s all.

Here's why I bring this up. Let's listen to the dubbed version of the character sounds like.





Now here's the original.


You miss everything when you get the dubbed version.




Another plus: I really liked the soundtrack. The main theme is like one of those things that seems so simple it had to exist already, but no one noticed, until the composer formed it out of the ether.

Anyway, is it good? Held my attention for 10 eps, and I looked forward to it every night.





It’s 1918.

It’s mechanically right! Alas, it has driven you to the tree that waits to receive its victims, and you are no more.

Alas, it has driven you to the tree that waits to receive its victims, and you are no more.

Saglessnes prevents life failure:

“Occupants do not roll to center.” That’s nice. I can find no information of consequence on the company around here.

Every European “cure” available:

They will send you an airplane map of the golf course! Free of charge. Nothing like it had ever been done before.

The Chamberlin was razed and replaced by an other version in the late 20s. It’s a retirement community today - 55 and up, and probably not cheap.

In case you were ever baffled by the term “blue-black ink”

You do wonder: why not just use. . . I don’t know, black ink?

Cheap hose DIES.

Live rubber!

This is just a reminder that 102 years ago, people attached the hose to the spout on the side of the house, adjusted the nozzle, and watered the flowers.

There are many words to use but “blende” doesn’t seem completely apt. I mean, we’re not looking at the most exquisite gradient here.

Still around in an altered form; went bankrupt over lawsuits pertaining to . . . to . . . hmm, it’ll come to me.

Ideal for everyone for every morning and every situation and condition! Does little.

We’ve talked about the Fruit Salts before, I know. Must I? Sigh:

Eno gave away his mixture to seafarers at the port, and in this way the name Eno became associated with fruit salts around the world. ... Currently owned by GlaxoSmithKline, Eno Fruit Salt is today sold as an antacid, and its main ingredients are now sodium bicarbonate, sodium carbonate, and citric acid.

Buy this kitchen so you won’t have to work as hard! Then work as hard on something else.

Napanee: Kitchen City USA! Still around, and here’s their history.

Surprisingly small town. In the days when the Main Street feature was but 10 pictures, I might have gone there.

That will have to suffice: see you around.




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