Friday! May you find yourself ignoring another inordinately large vessel of intoxicants that has materialized in your house, a tangible manifestation of the substance that floats your evenings and provides the artificial cheer that drives away the existential ache.

Those Bleat banners - last week, and I believe, next week as well - are from a Happy Happy Book of Drinks put out by Southern Comfort, if memory serves. Everyone in the pictures is very square, but they are all lively and cheerful and enjoying with-it things. It’s like an assurance to the L-7 Herberts that they’re just as mod as the counter-culture types - why, they’re better, because they have jobs, and they’re married, and they have houses, and heck yeah they listen to the new folk sound that’s going around. (One of the pictures in the book has a fellow with a guitar singing some lusty old ballad, presumably about the Hanging of John Torrence or some such tale of woe trotted out as a sign of solidarity with the People.)

They’re all in their 80s now, if still alive, but they will be eternally young, pickled forever by Southern Comfort.

Well, I'm spent from a long week, which begins on Sunday, remember. I'm not saying my four-day grueling routine of thinking and moving my fingers has left my physically exhausted. But I've written enough. On with the filler!

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

You were guaranteed at least one.

It's now crossed the line from stumpy to impressive.

The weekly sweep.

Let's look at some other angles.

It's always a surprise when the glass starts going up. So soon?

Remember the big apartment building on the edge of downtown? We're getting a good look at its final appearance. It'll look like it was made of stone and brick, which it isn't.

Say, what's this - some historical touch that ties it to the buildings in the neighborhood, or an idealized version of the same?

Thing is, you saw those on commercial buildings, not so much on residential buildings. But whatever.


Lance just badged his way backstage to hang.

"Oh, I just showed him my pistol and warrant for his arrest for war crimes."

Solution is here.





Oh, why not? Everyone loves him.


As a nonsense song, it's . . . not enough, and may explain the wan reaction. But it's still fun to hear him.

Rudy Vallee show, late 1930s.




Just nice music for sitting around and thinking about England.




Time was, everyone recognized this tune.




It's 1962, and they are saying it all.

I just don't know what they're saying.


That will do. I hope you've enjoyed your visits this week, and I'll endeavor to make it worth your while next week too. See you Monday.

Oh hey! Look what's back! Well, it never went away. Look what's updated



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