Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do There’s a space between the massive tower were I work and the smaller structure next door. It’s a wind tunnel, twenty stories high.

The wind gathers in the alcove, and whips in with brusque strength. It had assembled a mob of leaves, and they ran in circles, furious, lacking a cause or a solution, just enflamed by the moment. Then they would settle down, abashed, slightly embarrassed by their display of passion. And then the wind would remind them again, and they would hurl themselves in circles again.

No, I didn’t spend a lot of time on the internet today, why do you ask?

Well, it’s late in the day, and I’m dreading tomorrow. The new stove arrives. I have this fear it won’t fit. Oh, they took the measurements; we had Best Buy techs come by and do all sorts of things. It’s a damned nightmare. Can’t just buy a stove and slide it in. No, no, no. The stove we have now is a “drop in,” and so cabinets have to be sawed off. It may or may not vent correctly. It may or may not hook up correctly. It was the only stove I could get that fit the dual-fuel requirements; all others are sitting somewhere else in the world with a projected delivery time of MARCH 2035 or something.

Adding to the pique of the evening: my HomePod has gone crazy. It’s a big Apple speaker that fills the room with music. My wife uses it for ambient entertainment when she’s working downstairs: Siri, play classical. Okay. Well. The Apple “classical” playlist rotates about 14 songs, two of which are Bolero. I understood why they played Chopin’s Funeral March on Halloween - ha ha, nice joke. But it played today as well. No one wants to hear that piece, really. We get it, he’s dead, it’s sad. Too bad he got carried off by a bum tooth at 32.

Hold on, must google, I’m sure it’s about someone.

Nope. Maybe he was thinking about someone he wanted to kick off, which explains the brief major key passage.

When I tap the HomePod to turn it down, it says DECREASE VOLUME in a strangled robot voice that sounds like she’s trying to say something fast on the phone because the kidnapper has a gun to her head.

Silly you, you say, just go into the settings and change the voice! I did. I reset it. Same thing. Oh, she responds in a lilting Irish voice when I ask her what time it is, but tap the top to decrease volume, and she sounds like a voice that comes out of the computer in “War Games.”



So I have a fully updated robot who won’t speak Irish and decided, for no particular reason, that I wanted to hear the second track on the “You Only Live Twice” soundtrack, apropos of nothing. SIRI SHUT UP

(Pause, rethink)


You know, I had that soundtrack when I was a kid, and was fascinated by it. That main theme just hits me. As does its iterations, instrumental and otherwise, in the soundtrack. Perhaps because it was the first “grown-up” movie I ever saw. As I’ve mentioned, my dad took me to see it on a re-release, perhaps because he’d missed it the first time around, perhaps to give his plump bookish son a view into the ways of the world. The movie was the most impressive and thrilling thing I had ever seen - and when you consider that I was a NASA nerd keen on all things Space . . . well. The poster with James Bond in his impeccable suit, holding a spacesuit helmet in one hand and a gun in the other with his posture of effortless self-containment - that was what it meant to be a man, I decided.

It goes without saying that I have fallen short.

Anyway. I moved away from home and the soundtrack stayed on my shelf in my old bedroom. The only way to hear the song was to wait a decade until VCRs were invented, and I could rent it, then buy the soundtrack, and rip it. I went years without hearing it.

The very idea of going years without hearing something seems so strange now. And so does having a robot that plays the “Funeral March” without asking on a day when the dead leaves decided to dance.




It’s 1978. The end of the 70s is in sight.

A paper like this would have driven newspapermen absolutely crazy in the 20s or 30s. Three stories on the front page? THREE? WE HAD 27 ON A SLOW DAY

The death toll would go to 918 eventually. Miserable collectivist bastard.


It’s . . . it’s a grandma? In the garage?

As was the conventions of the era, women immediately turned grey and put their hair in buns when they passed 60. She was 70! Which was OLD!

Ah, the Action Line: helping the readers right the wrongs of direct marketers, and other insidious enemies of truth and justice.

No, really! Looks like the product is still made. It’s the distributor that went teats-up.

BTW, the lawyer listed is still around, and still practicing bankruptcy law.

ha ha let’s traumatize some vets

Top TV shows! Utterly forgotten. “Pearl” was indeed about Pearl Harbor; starred Angie Dickinson and Dennis Weaver, Robert Wagner and Lesley Ann Warren. AND SO DID EVERYTHING ELSE

Can you guess what “The Word” is about?

“A document is discovered that appears to be an ancient eyewitness account of the life of Jesus Christ. A public relations executive is hired to publicize this document as a new version of the Bible, but he finds himself enmeshed in controversy and intrigue.”

Starring David Janssen. AND SO DID EVERYTHING ELSE

Tell us a joke, funny man

It was Hurley’s Jolly Follies, according to Wikipedia.

Just for reference: what they had for weather. Bit more granular today.

Someone had to come up with a description every day. Eventually you’d have to get around to Porgy and Bess.

Look at all you got! That baby had a power regulating system and picture control AND Electronic Video-Guard Tuning System.

What a beast. That wasn’t just a TV. It was furniture.

  That will have to do. Now head back to the Fifties!




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