A lovely week here, and it dashed by with quicksilver speed. By the way, I’m reasonably sure the “quick” relates not to speed at all, but the substance’s resemblance to something that was alive. So I retract my first sentence.

In church when I heard about God judging the Quick and the Dead I envisioned the former category as those who tried to run way from judgment, and actually put some distance between themselves and the Final Court, but were caught, because, well, God.

The Dead, of course, were just heaped up against the wall or sprawled on the benches.

Wife is watching tennis on the new streaming service, and so far it’s not going entirely horribly, for the most part. She doesn’t like the Apple remote, which is wise because it’s stylish and cool and difficult to control. But stylish and cool! I’m fine with the remote not having 52 buttons, but could stand maybe one or two more? Please?

I tried to get the app for the streaming service so she could use the TV’s remote. Guess what: can’t! It’s a 2016 TV, and only Samsung TVs from 2017 on will work. Why? WHY? It can handle Netflix and Amazon and Hulu, but chokes on this one? Yes, its firmware is totally up to date, fresh as the morning dew, but with less moisture, and I assume no moisture at all, since that would short things out. This means that if I want a better remote, I have to get a new TV.

But wait, you say, surely there are others that will play nice with the AppleTV box. Yes, and they have 52 buttons. There’s a simplified one, but it demands a box between it and everything else - and get a load of this.

An active $3.99 Pay As You Go Plan is required for voice control, search, and content discovery, or you can upgrade to a Lifetime Plan for $99.99. A free 45-day trial is included with purchase.

Another bloody monthly fee tacked on to all the others, drip drip drip, can’t keep track, they just pop up on your phone when one of them hits your bank account and you say “oh, right,” and then forget because it’s $2.99, and that’s like the price of coffee at Starbucks and you don’t go to Starbucks at all so in the end, you’re like, ahead at least 30 bucks, assuming you could have gone once a week.

Good weekend ahead, sort of. Not really. Lots of work on Saturday. More painting, storage closet cleaning, security camera set-up. But then there will be steaks. On Sunday there will be football and pizza with the Giant Swede and the Crazy Uke, and it will be warm enough to sit outside on a brilliant fall day and consult with a small cigar and watch the leaves pirouette down. Friday is the best of all - talking in the morning, then another show in the evening, then ahhhh, it’s done. Get down the Dickel 12 and watch a serial for the Black & White World 2022 updates (I know, pathetic) and clean up some code and arrange photographs and then watch the end of “True Detective” season 2, which I ended up appreciating for its James Elroy-ness.

Good week, warm days, a few crickets right now sleepily chirping. Been a while since I heard a cicada. Won’t hear anymore this year. You always hear the first. You never realize when you’ve heard the last.

And now, for October . . .

We can't do Halloween without looking at all the cliches that remake our fdamiliar products.

TREAT ORGINAL MINI SQUARES

Two of the basic architypes: Snap is a Mummy, which is scary because they have the absolute worst breath, and Pop as a vampires. How do we know? He doesn't have sharp teeth. The top hat doesn't really go with the vampire cliche. But he has a cowl and a red vest, so he is an immortal who feeds on blood and pain.

Crackle is a skeleton because that's the sound his bones make when he is struck sharply, or falls down.

This one raised a few questions.

There is nice pumpkin smell, and haunted, hell-bound unholy pumpkin smell. I sniffed both, and could tell no difference. I bought Spooky Pumpkin for a slightly musty downstairs room, and it did nothing at all. Perthaps it has no smell because there really are no spirits inhabiting carved gourds.

The Washington Avenue view of the RBC Gateway.

More glass. I wonder how flabby the massing is going to look when it's completely clad.

The weekly sweep.

 

I'm thinking there has to be a circus-specific aspect here. But we know Lance and Lori stumbled across the crime while out on a date.

 

Solution is here.

 

 

 

   

Hello, ev'ry body!

At the studio? A little fourth-wally there.

Today's sermon . . . is on flatness? Jacks? It's jacks! Let's all think about jacks!

 

   
 

 

He knows what it's like to be clinically depresses

 

     
 

 

It's almost rap

 

Our second look, or listen, at this compilation album. Only for the lucky members of the Columbia Record Club, who are united in regret and damnation!

 

   

 

 

The only time I'd like to hear this song ever again is when a frog with a top hat is dancing to it.

This stuff was quite popular in the late 50s / early 60s. I suppose the sharp trebles set off your stereo setup, but I find it all nothing but false cheer.

   

 

 

 

 

   

 

 
I wonder if they weren't introduced because, well, they needed no introduction.
   

There we go, or rather there we went. Another week in the can, and so much left over. Well, next week, then. See you then

 

 

 

 

 
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