I trust you had a good summer weekend, like the mid-60s Americans above, who are standing around wondering if they are in a cigarette ad or a soft drink ad. Most of all, I hope you didn’t have the Sunday Scaries!





No, I didn’t know the term, either. A google search produced an NBC news story that said “The term ‘Sunday scares,’ although not scientific, describes a common feeling of anxiety that builds up over the course of Sunday afternoon and evening.” The story was titled “The Sunday Scares are Real - This is Why.”


Google suggests related searches:




So it spreads outwards in all directions, blob-like, until it consumes the Earth.


It sounds like a phrase you’d use on a toddler.

Various people on Twitter were angry today that Richard Branson went into “space.” Or, if you like, was “space-adjacent.





A fitting sentiment from someone whose name suggests an organism that fastens to a vessel and moves around without doing anything, I guess.


"The strongest case yet." (Says the man married to the Vice Chair of Bank America.) As I understand the logic, it's this: if you have enough money to fund your own space program, you shouldn't have enough money to fund your own space program.

I'm no fan of Branson, but I am a fan of space ships, and not ceding the New Frontier to the CCP. Besides, Branson lives in a place where the taxman can't get at him, so Mr. Barnicle can only insist that someone do something about these people, and transfer an appropriate portion of their property to the state.

Branson is worth about $6 billion, which is sofa-cushion change in the days of 24-7-52-365 printing presses. Elsewhere, at the Atlantic, a writer asks the Space Bros to consider the opinions of her circle of friends who have the right opinions, and hence constitute Public Opinion:





There wouldn't have been any good time. If they'd done it during the pandemic, it would have been a Terrible Time, because we - and I mean, everyone! - were all stuck at home in small apartments in New York City, and they got to go on a trip.

I can imagine a culture in which some Tony-Stark / Howard Hughes types leaving the planet in the middle of a pandemic would be a sign of hope. A sign that we're not down for the count. A sign that an interesting future is being born right in front of us, and it's not about rich guys taking joy rides, it's about what we can do up there and out there with reusable boosters and reliable craft.

Anyway. When it comes to rich guys building spaceships, it could be worse. Is all I'm saying.

Okay, sharpen your pencils

It's a movie! Obviously, that Clark Gable vehicle, "Tornado House Ladder."



This should tell you what show we're doing:

Tales of Tomorrow, the very early sci-fi show.

One of the most annoying tropes in old sci-fi is The Kid Who Knows Something. "Gee, Dad, I’m not kidding, I saw a flying saucer!"

"Sure you did, Bobby." (Rustles newspaper)

"No really I did! Honest! It came down in the woods and a spaceman got out!"

"Now Bobby we’ve talked about this. About telling tall tales."

"Aw it’s not a tall tale, it’s real!"

"That’s it, young man, go to your room. No supper for you."

Every time. Well, in this one, Dad’s working with his scientifically minded kid on some project.

He gets his scientific know-how from "Mr. White." Dad has no idea who that is. Asks the wife. Say, do you know anyone in the neighborhood named "Mr. White" who's hanging around with our son? No? Well, doesn't matter.

He joshes his son about how the wiring looks all wrong, but the kind says “Mr. White” told him it’ll work. Well:

This makes Dad ask Sonny Boy how Mr. White told him to make this, and Sonny says "he lives on the moon, and talks to me in my head."

This upsets the parents. Understandably so. What's odd is how he never mentioned this to his parents before. He's so nonchalant about the Moon Man in His Head he obviously doesn't think there's anything strange about the set up. You'd think it would come up, no? "Hey Dad, you ever have voices in your head, and you can ask them for stuff, like a picture of what the voices look like, and they make stuff materialize? That ever happen to you?"

When the parents ask if he has a picture . . . well. He's from a race of plucked chickens that can live in the vacuum of space:

After this they have to destroy the machine, of course, and that leads to my favorite part of a Tales of a Tomorrow ep: public domain classical recordings.

Name that tune!

This one's tough, so I'll just say . . .

Name that movie.


That will suffice! Now, as ever, it being Monday . . . .the Matchbooks. See you around.


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