I think the temp today was 58 degrees warmer than a few days ago. Don't know where you are, but if it was, oh, 55 last Friday, and it's 113 today.

Sounds pretty good to me, actually.

Screed-wise, I had something on that execrable column about why-shouldnt-we-dance-on-the-graves-of-anti-vaxxers (that's the URL!), but on the other hand, why? As they said when Ben Grimm took the stand, the thing speaks for itself. (Sorry.) Lay down a marker, I suppose. But that’s just that and nothing more. The column's moral turptitude is manifest; its author is either aware of its obvious implications or chunderheaded enough not to see what he’s advocating. Is there something more interesting to say about this?

Perhaps this: why are newspaper columnists or a certain age, for the most part (ahem) such obvious, boring writers?

When I was growing up, columnists were one of the most interesting parts of the paper. Like the comics, they had personality. Hardly anything else did. Everything else was Institutional in tone, but the columnists had voices, and stances. Every town probably had the equivalent of the village atheist, the guy who bucked the local culture and wrote wide-swinging boozy screeds with towering self- righteousness. They still exist, but they are still obvious and boring. It's one thing to give the base fan service. But for Liebling's sake, try to transcend rote reheated internet message-board sneers and dunks.)

Now you look at the picture, and if it's a guy over 45, you assume it's going to be thin jam on stale toast.


Remember last week's look at a Kresge filmstrip? Oh, there's more.

This has been lodged in my head for a week and now you will have to share my experience:

And what are those? The little details that make the Kresge difference!

I don't remember the Kresge difference. I barely remember Kresge, which had a store in downtown Fargo. Woolworth's was always better, for some reason.

Anyway.  The gals are getting together in a greenish room that fights mightily against color correction. (I've restored it best as I can.) They're having coffee and talking about variety stores, as people do. Second-from-the-left says she doesn't go to five-and-dimes. They're dumpy, don't have what she needs, and the clerks are jerks.

The Wise Elder Woman says no, Kresge is different. They care!

"Perhaps, but maybe you say that because you work there?"


We get some anecdotes about lousy service in other places.

"Sorry, I don't have the receipt for this return, but c'mon, this is the same stuff you have in stock right over there."

The clerk doesn't want to hear and doesn't care that she's double parked. Which leads to:

The Woman in Red had good service as Kresge! They were keen to note her needs and questions.


You could hang a horseshoe on those hair whorls.

Another tale about calling the store gives us this battle-axe:

Anyway, why is Kresge different? Well, for one thing, the manager cares.

Our manager:

Question: what the hell is this thing?

It's explained that the five-note sequence we heard at the top is the sound the store plays on the PA when assistance is required. I don't know if that's actually true. Maybe it is! And if so, we just learned something about Life in Those Times we otherwise would never have guessed.

By the way, I looked for additional info on the filmstrip, and up pops a totally legit site in Russia, with this message board thread:

Thirty-four minutes after the message, someone has a link to a 1961 Kresge training filmstrip! Amazing! But uh-oh


The site wants a credit card number, says the OP, five minutes after the question was answered.

Makov is here with reassurances!


Don't worry guys, its trusted site!

None of the links on the page work, except for the one that takes you to the site that has the file. It's a bot-generated site that creates a fake conversation to get your CC number.

Okay, off to clean my cookies.




It’s 1922.

This paper sounds personal, as if one man is writing almost everything. There’s not a lot of world or national news, and hence it’s hard to find something to research or highlight.

Shied their casters.

You think that’s the equivalent of tossing their hats in, but it seems like the opposite. As if it should be "cast their shierers."




Some trolley nostalgists may be surprised to learn they were having these conversations in 1922. They were going on in every city.


I’m not a newspaperman, but - no, wait, I am. Therefore I can question their judgment and say they could’ve played this story a little bigger.

Dynamite in the children’s room. 1922 was a big year for packing-house strikes.

Let’s just say that the person who wrote these nuggets on the editorial page had a peppery disposition.

And he wasn’t alone. Less vinegary, but more long-winded, was George Ritter, who wrote this from St. Louis. Another "collection of thoughts."

And he wasn’t alone. Less vinegary, but more long-winded, was George Ritter, who wrote this from St. Louis. Another collection of thoughts.

  Arbuckle, of course, would be Roscoe.No first name needed.

I wonder if there wasn’t something personal going on in this little story:

The MAN KILLING FLIVVER - sure, blame the car.

Finally, from Canada, we have something I present without context. Mr. Lawton Toft of Flora, Ontario, Grand Champion of . . .


Close wheat.



That'll do! Enjoy your midweek moments. Auto ads await.





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