I set this Bleat Banner aside a long time ago, put it in the “spring” folder, for obvious reasons. Well. It has been cold and rainy for days, and yes, yes, I know. Free lawn-watering! It’s normal. It’s perfectly normal to have a stretch of false spring followed by a piece of loose March grafted and transplated into the end of April.

Perhaps it was unwise not to post that dispiriting entry I trashed, because it was glum, and who needs that: another shooting tonight, this time in Cedar-Riverside, where I used to live. Twenty-four now, twice as many as last year at this time.

I’ve been meaning to swing over one of these days and take some pictures for a long, long-developing website about the effect of the freeway on downtown. It made a cut that created a psychological void between downtown and the old Snoose Alley, and left a ghost neighborhood. Then add the huge housing development, a big Brutalist jollity redeemed by its Mondian facades. I never liked it. I never liked living there. But that was the odd year when I thought I was going to die for two different reasons, and fled to the alternate-universe Valli to hide.

Which is another story.

Anyway, let’s amuse ourselves with the trivialities of the comfy bougie class.

A few blocks from my house, on a busy commercial street, there’s a tidy little building with a bustling, charming gift store. The building burned down in the Oughts, and the store was lost. Its reconstruction was a relief for the neighborhood: our local depot of last-minute gifts was back! You could always find something here.

I went to find something the other day, and was reminded that the neighborhood’s demographic apparently includes a hefty serving of “fierce wine moms who regard vulgarity as a sign of their bright, vibrant individuality.”

There’s always kids in the store, since they have Neat Stuff and toys.

Is that coloring book for me? No, that coloring book is for grownups. The other day on Twitter I saw an adult - sorry, a grown-ass adult - squee over getting their Wandavision coloring book. You wonder if they ordered the Wandavision Colorforms as well.

Ah, there’s that judgmental streak again. Sorry! Let us continue:

It’s interesting how they don’t commit to the real thing, isn’t it? I am guilty of asterisking the vowel to avoid total crudifying, but the point of these books is to revel in the crudity.

Pixar guy who had a funny video about this topic, apparently.

Oh look. Edgy sponges:

Ha ha double-swears

For the very same demographic, up amongst all the other Effin’ Stuff:

But of course.





It’s 1939.

Don’t . . . don’t get your hopes up.

Nice page; bonus points for “Solon,” a word that only occurs in newspapers.


It seems as if things might proceed without too much war. At least they’re talking!

Italy invaded France the next year.


Glamour descends from the heavens:

Context for the tour:

MacDonald and Lew Ayres co-starred in Broadway Serenade (1939) as a contemporary musical couple who clash when her career flourishes while his founders. MacDonald's performance was subdued, and choreographer Busby Berkeley, just hired away from Warner Bros., was called upon to add an over-the-top finale in an effort to improve the film. Broadway Serenade did not entice audiences in a lot of major cities,[61] with Variety claiming that New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles' cinema attendances were "sad," "slow,"and “sour."

Following Broadway Serenade, and not coincidentally right after Nelson Eddy's surprise elopement with Ann Franklin, MacDonald left Hollywood on a concert tour and refused to renew her MGM contract.

This was her first tour, but not the last.

  “The sewer grave of his comely wife.”

The deets:

During this time, the defendant and his wife (the deceased) built a home adjoining the home of the Stokes at an approximate cost of $18,000. Practically all of the money necessary for the construction of this home was borrowed from a loan company, and payments on this loan were to be made monthly by the defendant.

In December, 1938, the defendant, without ever having previously discussed the matter with his wife, told her that he had been to see Clarence Black, an attorney in Oklahoma City, and arranged to get a divorce. That he wanted her to go to this attorney and sign a waiver so that a divorce could be had. The wife at that time went over to her mother's and informed her of the defendant's proposal; and Mrs. Stokes, the mother, talked to the defendant to try to learn the trouble. He refused to tell her why he felt that he and the deceased should be divorced.

He did the old “she left town, didn’t say when she’d be back” routine.

The jury didn’t buy the insanity argument. He got the chair. He appealed. It was denied. He took the juice on November 15th of the same year.


Herblock, before everything got labels:

The term comes from SCOTUS battles over FDR programs. The New Deal vs. the Nine Old Men.

But not in spring! Why, then they turn young, because Baseball.





We may snicker now, but industrial-scale production of ice was a great thing, and home ice was a boon.

The attractive Trio is in Town.

But not for long! Good luck googling anything on Miss Ruby Jack; you’ll be swamped with JFK stuff.


That'll do. See you tomorrow.




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