Just another day of trying to find ground lamb and arguing about critical race theory. The first was fun. Daughter wanted to make dinner for everyone, a dish of lamb over some fancy pasta with a dill / yogurt sauce. Went to Cub. No ground lamb. Asked the butcher; he said “I don’t see any.”

I wanted to say “is it possible there is lamb in places not immediately obvious by a cursory examination?” But I don’t think they have lamb, ever. Okay. Off to Lund’s.

“No, we don’t have any,” said the butcher.

“We’re in the middle of changing suppliers,” said the other. Ah - so it’s a difficult, complicated procedure, and while the company may have wished for an uninterrupted supply of ground lamb, it turns out there was a substantial lacuna into which we had regrettably tumbled.

Off to Traders Joe, because that sounded like the sort of quirky thing they’d have. No. They had the legs of lamb, but the meal called for ground-up lambs. Daughter said she could cook it and add it, but I said no: the recipe called for crumbles of lamb, not hunks.

Last chance: the grocery store near our house. “Call them,” I said. “I’m not going through this again.”

She had the butcher on speaker. “Let me check,” he said. He put her on hold, came back after a minute. “Yes, I have a lot up front.”

WELL HOW ABOUT THAT. The one place we should have visited first, but had thought “it’s going to cost a lot,” never thinking that place where lamb might be cheap is the place least likely to have lamb in the first place.

Great meal.

The argument afterwards wasn’t an argument about core principles but incremental interpretations, but we managed to make it sound like an argument about much larger issues. Which is amusing, because we get into vehement discussions about nuances. Better than not having shared values at all, I suppose, and she does push me to think about different things.

Which I promptly reject, of course, but for a moment, I thought about them.

(Kidding)

(Really! Sort of not, but kidding.)

Back now to the Fair, which isn't. And actually started later. But it's the last week of the month, and that's Fair time.

1905.

Uh oh

This was a big deal. The Ferris wheels were in Machinery Hill in 1905; there wasn’t any Midway.

Grim details:

   
 
It didn’t cool the zeal to escape the earth, but it sure crimped the box office for that day, I’m sure.
   

 

It’s 1931. Things aren’t good. You wouldn’t know it from any of this.

Reveling: it’s a given.

Have we been to Zanesville? I think we have . . . yes. The town that pottery built.

Well, the town that built pottery.

 

Mrs. Gotrocks is actually giving her husband a look, because he’s the one with the denture breath and chronic pyorrhea:

Ah, the fancy soirees oof 1931, still going on with mad, gay abandon. This will all be over soon!

 

True, although languor has its merits, too.

Rub this on for Vitality!

 

Complicated story, in a way. Part of the struggle to assert American perfumes over French products, which were perceived to be better.

At first glance, Cheramy might look as though it fitted in with this strategy. It not only looked French but it was actually a French name. Even better than that, it could even loosely translate, phonetically, into ‘Dear Friend’. But the creation of Cheramy was in a league of its own. It was not simply, or exclusively, an American invention. In fact, it was the brainchild of a Frenchman - Monsieur Robert Bienamé and represented an elegant attempt to beat the American protectionists at their own game.

 

I don’t know any party that wouldn’t benefit from some Camel Balls:

Does it seem sometimes as if entirely too much effort was expended attempting to make Americans think they should like tea, and that tea was much more popular than it actually was?

 

Here’s a textbook piece of early 30s design:

It gained appeal in the late 20s, and would be out of date by, oh, ’36. ’37.

It’s BASO now:


Since its inception in 1914, BASO has been recognized as an innovative leader in developing and manufacturing a wide range of quality gas control products and accessories.

Originally called Milwaukee Gas Specialty Company, the facility produced gas range accessories and later added products for water heaters and furnaces.

When the company was granted an exclusive license to manufacture and market the Baltimore Automatic Shut-Off (BASO) switch in 1934, Milwaukee Gas Specialty Company and BASO quickly became synonymous. The company’s name was officially changed to BASO, Inc. in 1957.

So, not that quickly.

Only 300?

No cost? What’s the catch?

A controlling cover for kicking kiddies:

Internet inquiries about the company turn up . . . internet inquiries about the company. No one seems to know much.

The address shows up as a residential neighborhood. Someone selling imports out of his house, perhaps.

UV lamps for those days when Baby can’t get out for some Vitamin D:

 

Here’s a textbook piece of early 30s design:

It gained appeal in the late 20s, and would be out of date by, oh, ’36. ’37.

$26.50 was a lot of money. Four hundred and fifty smackers, adjusted for inflation.

That will have to do, I'm afraid. See you around.

 

 

 
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