You’d think this would be a great week for the Wednesday Review of Modern Thought, but I’m putting that elsewhere. Happy thoughts here this week. HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY, said with manic glee and clenched teeth.
Ordinary day with lots of work. I know this will sound . . . ridiculous to some, and perhaps absolutely expected to others, but I have completed the 2021 redesign of the Bleat. I really like it. I ended up not liking much of the graphics for this year, and made some boneheaded code decisions that complicated things; they were, of course, intended to simplify things. They did not. So I bought a full suite of typefaces - 56 total, all consistent, all playing nice together - and came up with something I really like.
Which means I’ll be tired of it and hate it when January rolls around.
It’s hot. It’s quiet now. Crickets. Soft dog whines as he dreams of pursuit. Daughter working at the kitchen table on her writing. Wife, sore from tennis played in the punishing heat, relaxing with some TV. I’m watching the feeds of Kenosha, where someone just lit a flag and screamed Death to America.
Does Kenosha have a large number of people who want to burn down their town and bring Death to America? I’m thinking they may have imported some people who wished to help out. I’m thinking they’d head up to Fargo if they were needed there. I’m thinking they’d be more than happy to burn downtown Fargo. For justice!
Actually, no; for Revolution!
Justice comes later.
Actually, the Revolution is justice! So burning downtown Fargo is, like, a jury returning with its verdict. Totally justice.
Now, the Fair. Which isn't.
Now we’re talking excitement.
The fine art of writing something that hasn’t happened yet.
Were there pictures? Oh yes:
Well, I imagine the trains wouldn’t meet a second time. It was a real safety-first time:
Then, with a shill blast of their whistles, the engines concentrated the crowd’s attention on the last trip they were to make. Carrington opened wide the throttle of engine “573,” she started forward, almost immediately gaining her maximum speed. He jumped quickly, but not quite quickly enough. Landing heavily in the adjacent mudbank, he turned three complete somersaults, and struck his ankle against a boulder, spraining it.
The day after:
MPR did a piece about the 1933 crash.
At the 1933 fair, the top draw was a collision between two locomotives, as the Lake Benton News breathlessly described:
"The Leviathans of the rails will be in readiness at each end of the track in full view of the thronged Grandstand; the engineers will open the throttle wide, tie down the whistle cords and leap for life. The two thundering monsters will speed toward each other in a mass of steam and smoke — then the crash!"
Again, The leap for life!
Oh happy days are here again:
“A wealthy and eccentric widow.”
Helen Maude Edgren. She was the widow of Robert Edgren, a well-respected reporter and sports cartoonist, nationally syndicated.
As far as I can discern, no one was ever arrested.
If you check the demos today, Nottingham is 71% white, and that includes “Gypsy or Irish Traveller.”
Irish traveller? It was a racial classification created for the most recent census.
Irish Travellers (Irish: an lucht siúil, meaning "the walking people"), also known as Pavees, are an itinerant ethnic group whose members maintain a set of traditions.[ They are predominantly English-speaking, though many also speak Shelta. The majority of Irish Travellers are Catholic.
Although they are often referred to as "gypsies", there is no evidence that Irish Travellers have a genetic relation to the Romani people.[ Genetic analysis has shown Travellers to be Irish, and that they likely diverged from the settled Irish population in the 1600s, during the time of the Cromwellian invasion of Ireland. Traveller rights groups long advocated for ethnic status from the Irish government, succeeding in 2017.
Why?I wonder how many people in 1958 hated modern architecture.
Don’t look for it now; it’s gone.
Policeman Rogers looks like a fellow who’d use his badge to pull over a pretty girl and ask her out.
I wasn’t aware police had veto power over Fall Fashions.
Thousands died, unable to avoid the sudden appearance of the massive god-hands
That's just creepy. Large hands that dwarf us mortals are alwatys unnerving, and believe me when I say I have the website to prove it. Next year. You'll see.
Every paper of any size had a Dick Nolan in those days, and usually two or three.
Can't find anything on him.
A column name like that carries no small amount of responsibility.
Are you in constant pain, and looking for an opioid that can help? Here’s the community for you:
Welcome to paradise. No, really: the mid-century dream, right here. The California Rambler. Ah, the gracious living you could do here. The bridge parties! The holidays with the kids! Gardening!
They go for 1.5 million now. A little over 1000 square feet.
That'll do! What? It doesn't? You're right! Off to 1984, then.