The Keurig on my floor at the office is decommissioned, so I have to go upstairs to the editorial department’s kitchen. Signs of life: today when I put in my pod, there was a pod from a different brand. For months I would open up the machine and find the pod I’d used two, three days before. Great situation for a last-man-on-earth story:

He opened the Keurig, and stood silent for a minute, heart racing.

There was a pod, of course. But the top said McCafe.

On the way back downstairs I passed the mailroom guy. He doesn’t have a lot to do. I deposited a letter in the STAMPED MAIL basket. It was the only item. I felt like I had wrapped a message around a carrier pigeon’s leg.

Signs of normalcy: got a card today for the next postcard show. It’s been a long, long time. Good thing I have motels done through 2022. A sign of unnormalcy: I was talking to one of the editors at the paper today, who made a rare appearance to do some office stuff. When I see a light on in a usually darkened office I go over and knock and introduce myself as the caretaker. We stood by the darkend TV monitors in the abandoned news hub, discussing when people would be coming back to the office, even if they come back for “flexible” schedules. Looks like January, if the cases come down.

The cases. It'll always be the cases. For a long time I thought something was damaged, and then I thought it was broken, and now I think it was wrecked for good. Monday I'm making a clean break and moving to a new cubicle in a deserted part of the office. Better view. Fresh desk flair, new pictures. I should throw out all my ties, too. Get new shirts. Start from scratch in 2022. I'm done with waiting for the old days to return. They won't.

Of course, you could say, when did they ever?

Well. That aside, it was a good week with lots of productivity, and the Three Gripes I spoke about the other day have all subsided. Friday awaits, with its simple, ritualistic rewards: pizza, scotch, good popcorn, ice cream, and the knowledge of a good solid weekend breakfast on the other side of slumber. So all is well. Let's see what I have in the Detritus Folder - stuff I set aside for some reason, but couldn't find a reason to post.

Ah: little guys!

This was a popular style in the first decades of the 20th century. Oversized heads, oddly realistic.

The question is whether these are the guys named in the ad, the builder, and the architect.

They look drawn from life, no?

The company did a series of these ads. I found them in a 20s trade magazine aimed at builders.

Yes, they're portraits.

You'll see more of these fellows next year in the History of Advertising section, and I actually found some of the buildings in the ad. Of course, they're now empty and blighted with broken windows in neighborhoods that have one or two houses on vacant blocks like molars in an old bum's mouth.

This is amusing, because I did a search for some terms to find a link to the artwork in the Museum update yesterday. HEY WHAT NOW

At first I thought "someone's using my art," and then I thought, no, sigh, Google misses nothing. We used to count on that; now we sometimes regret it.

 

The RBC topped off, and we can't get inside yet, so we'll see how it looks from other angles.

From the library, a block away.

The weekly sweep now gives you the Hennepin view, with the new apartment:

 

The pillars have poked up aboeve the ground now:

And the Firehouse Project. Soon we'll go into the pit.

Trust me, this will be much mre impressive.

 

Butch the Brugger Bro:

 

The clock and chair in the first panel disturb me in vague ways I can't put my finger on.

Solution is here.

 

 

   

 

It's the theme for Urqule Poyrow!

 

 

 

   
 

Except . . . they borrowed that one.

 

   

I have to give the announcer credit; that's some high-quality cheese, right there.

What pickle-nosed chanteuse have we here?

 
   
The album has the feel of something that cashed in on the "Nostalgia" craze after "No No Nanette" was a smallish success.  All re-releases.
   

Wikipedia:

Beatrice Gladys Lillie (29 May 1894 – 20 January 1989), known as Bea Lillie, was a Canadian-born British actress, singer and comedic performer.

She began to perform as a child with her mother and sister. She made her West End debut in 1914 and soon gained notice in revues and light comedies, becoming known for her parodies of old-fashioned, flowery performing styles and absurd songs and sketches.

She debuted in New York in 1924 and two years later starred in her first film, continuing to perform in both the US and UK. She was associated with revues staged by André Charlot and works of Noël Coward and Cole Porter, and frequently was paired with Gertrude Lawrence, Bert Lahr and Jack Haley.

Still working on stage in the 60s, where she picked up some noms for matronly roles.

   
1979: No odor with EZO! Dump those pastes and powders.
   

   
  Thank your for your visits this week. Back on Monday, with Halloween Retro starting on Tuesday.
   

 

 

 

 
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