It’s that time of the week when you tote up what hasn’t been done, and count the hours left to do them. Doesn’t mean you’ll do them, just means you know how long you have to pretend you might.

Not enough hours in the day! No, I think the number’s right. Be worse on one of those fast-rotating planets. Did Star Trek ever visit a planet that had a six hour day and a six hour night? I’m sure the inhabitants would look a lot like us, except for some flare around the nose or forehead, and they’d dress in dun-colored tunics, and seem like us. They might have a slight religious aspect which would make them spiritual, unless they were severely religious, in which case they would be glowering and unaccommodating and unwilling to entertain reason, and would sentence everyone to torture: staying awake for sixteen hours! After such privations, they would be exhausted, and ready to talk about their true intentions!

Well, it was a good week, and I’ve a weekend of many accomplishments ahead. I have to finish painting the boiler room. Patched up the wall, thanking the people who did the work decades ago and left such a lousy, rough, unfinished job my own contribution will blend right in. Have to do some installations of household HQ you’ll hear about on Monday, either in a ceaseless torrent of obscenity, or a blithe tale of offhand accomplishment. May glue a small piece of a stone to a larger stone.

I will not be shopping at the grocery store, having done all that during the sane hours. Yesterday at Traders Joe I had a fine check-out conversation with a fellow whose opening gambit let me know we could have some sport. Oh yes we could.

He was talking with another checkout guy, and said something something was the best horror movie ever made.

“I’ll bite,” I said. “What’s the best horror movie ever made.”

Pay attention to this phrasing, because it speaks volumes. Libraries.

“Stanley Kubrick’s ‘The Shining.’”

I nodded. Okay, then. It’s going to be a pretentious one-upmanship exchange. Possibly dueling ackshually dudes. I’m ready.

I nodded, let it hang there, as if I had been confused by the “Stanley Kubrick” part - who’s he? And he filled the silence with another oracular pronunciation: “Of course he wasn’t really considered a horror director, like John Carpenter.”

Annnnnd . . . fire. I am aware that none of this reflects well on me.

“You could say that about all of Kubrick’s work. He wasn’t a genre director but he made the best movie in whatever genre he did. Best war movie, Full Metal Jacket. Best sci-fi movie, 2001. Best historical period drama, Barry Lyndon. Best whatever the hell it was, Eyes Wide Shut.”

He brightened: a worthy adversary! Alas, he was a clerk at Traders Joe, where arguing with customers is forbidden.

“I still say the Thing is a close second, though,” he said.

Bear in for the kill.

“Have you ever seen the original?”

“I’ve . . . I’ve seen clips.”

“You have to see it. The monster is from Minneapolis. It plays like a snappy 40s movie with overlapping dialogue. Howard Hawks is all over the thing. It’s grown-up.”

“Thing from Another World, is that it?”

Very good, sensei, you have snatched the pebble from my hand.

It was fun and we could have gone on for a long time like that, trying to impress each other, and all because he said “Stanley Kubrick’s ‘The Shining.’” It’s like saying “Herman Melville’s ‘Moby Dick,’” except A) worse, and B) no one would ever say that.

Again, I am well aware that none of this reflects well on me.

So, anything else? A relevant collection of signs by the Traders Joe:

And because it sums up this lovely week, some dog.

Ah, to smell what he smells.

Eh, maybe not.


Don't you feel a sense of accomplishment? You were there when it was just a pit!

The weekly sweep. I'm starting to get a crick in my neck.

Something I've only shown sporadically. A few blocks down the street, one of the last big apartment buildings is finishing up.

I could do without the white lines. Otherwise I like it.

Wonder if projected occupancy and rental rates have been adjusted lately.


"No, that's from before, after I called you. Do you think I'd be that stupid?"

Solution is here.






He's back - and just as full of it as he was before. It's time for another installment of BS's BS.


He was never a jockey. What's hiliarious to me is that the story about the song - the true story - includes a personal appearance by Abe Lincoln, but Bill left that one out.

We met Hugo earlier, didn't we? Yes. And we've met the Ames Brothers. I've even met Ed, on a ship. Nice guy.





The first side is all one piece: the Four Brothers.

Wonder why they picked that one.





1962: What do you want in an auto? Dodge has it!


That'll do! Hope I earned your visit this week, and we'll see you on Monday.



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