Finally, sun! Made all the difference in the townsfolk's mood. There was a line out the door at Lobby Pizza at noon, which was another good sign - but it came on the day Target announced they'd be going hybrid. Okay, fine, WFH. Another gut-punch to downtown, and of course I had to go to the Mpls subreddit to see everyone cheer it on and encourage the conversion of downtown office towers to housing.

This one had an unexpected twist:

Progress, I guess, defined as the enlightened people fleeing the city to outbote the trumptrash so the general population has easier access to intoxicants. Downtown is tumbleweeds and the city's tax base is ttrashed, but you can buy weed at the corner store instead of that guy you know, because he's sketchy.

The banner this week is an old restaurant in New York, I think - famous for its hundreds of omelettes. Small and cluttered. The walls had photos of all the famous patrons, and I only recognize Hepburn. (If that's her.) Greenwich Village in the boho dahys. We could have that here, if we declared the paring ramps were free after five, declared a tax holiday for the first 3 years of business, and had a good security presence. None of that, of course, will happen.

Ah well. As I said. It was sunny today, and that was nice.

Why, why, why bother with Twitter? You may ask. Less them 1% of the population is on the damned thing with any regularity, and most of them are maladjusted ranting maniacs living in a series of concentric bubbles. Not entirely true. It’s a fine source of information if you know how to prune and mute. It’s a good window into particular worldviews, which are presented with adamantine certainty. And it drives the conversation in 30something media circles, as you can see with the Washington Post’s middle-aged - sorry, totally young and with-it social media scold, who recently “exposed” an anonymous account that reposts TikTok’s from people with colored hair who like to bray at themselves in their cars.

		The people who are angry that TikToks are being seen for the wrong reasons, and are presented to amused or unsympathetic audiences, are busy revealing themselves.

Who? Well, the pinned tweet has the person singing the Communist anthem, which "means the world to me." Also does a podcast and links their merchandise page. Coolers! Tank tops.

On Twitter you get to meet the brave people who must regularly grapple with the dreaded trolls:

I decided! I stand! I care! Lest you think you're reading just any old Salon scribe:

The "lifelong" is a jape, probably, but imagine thinking that long-verified is some sort of credential.

Then there's this little masterpiece from the other side of the aisle:

Dude has some sort of web-based think tank, one of those Centers for Policy Studies or somesuch name that suggests a floor in an 80s DC office building. There isn't as much Putin celebration on my timeline as I'd like, and I think that's because I muted some people before the war because they were tiresome - ten tweets an hour, everything turned up to eleven, the usual boring firehose of contempt, yearning for national divorce, fixated on things that are important, but have been magnified to extinction-level events. I see them retweeted now and then, usually for laughs, and most of them are anti-anti-Putin because A) They are free-thinkers, stout individuals, who will not be swayed by The Current Thing, because the media lied about those things over there, in that box, and therefore the media is lying about all the other boxes, too, and B) they admire Putin. He is stronk leader! Cares for his country. Can join with the West to defeat perfidious Cathay.

Anyway, I haven't seen any 69-year-olds with a spring in their step lately, thinking "I too could send my shambolic army across the border to shell apartment houses and steal washing machines." So maybe it's not the example the ol' duffers were looking for.

(I did get into an online argument with someone who insisted that Russia is Great Power Nation that does not need to steal washing machines. Like it's all suburbs-of-Topka east of the Urals.)

There's always a sense of gratitude when people clarify the reasons for their policy positions:

All boxes ticked off while-U-wait. Also, there is no possible way to educate anyone except through funding the public schools.
Also, the best-educated and most capable people are the ones who went to expensive Ivy League colleges. Also, people in Virginia who are thinking about alternate models to education tell each other in hushed voices "don't forget what happened when the slaves revolted." Also, public schools have to eliminate grades and advanced-placement classes to ensure the best possible education, which will threaten white supremacy. Also, college should be free and open to all, so people can get good jobs, except also that Capitalism is white supremacy. Also, white supremacy was so strong in the 19th century that there were educated slaves. And so on.

Then you have the cheerful self-reveals:

Hey hey don't be mad - sorry, BIG MAD. He's just funnin'.

		But he isn't entirely joking, of course, so this does the thing Twitter does every day: it sparks the dreaded conversation. I mean, we go right to the holy liturgical song of the ungrateful Boomers, the ticky-tacky boxes song. Real authentic people live on the third-floor of a walk-up apartment with fascinating, diverse neighbors who argue about Abstract Expressionism into the night while smoking cigarettes, and then make mad love on the fire escape!

The Discourse continues:

		Mind you, we're judging a young couple for buying a house somewhere. Whereupon ice-brain incel enters the chat:

Huh? Others were also mystified:

		And there it is, exactly. The necessity to be mad online.

But it doesn't leave anyone feeling anything but spent and jangled and unhappy. Perhaps that's one of the reasons Twitter is invaluable: it keeps certain people in a state of constant, tremulous miserabilism, reinforces all their priors, convinces them of the perfidy and crushing power of the forces arrayed against them, and prevents them from doing anything. What's the point? People are stupid and it's hopeless. I mean, just look at Twitter.

It’s 1923.

It’s a lot of fun to say “Mint Loot Plot.”

		Yes, yeggs knocked over the mint. It’s the stuff of legend.

This was the big story of most lasting significance, as Paul Harvey used to say.

“Songs of Seventies Sung.” They’re toasting the demise of the ancient Nicollet, and ushering in the new modern era of big-block monster hostels.

Monstrous in size, not clientele.

		To put this in context: this is the site of the RBC building whose construction we used to note every Friday. The building that replaced the old hotel has been gone for decades. But on that spot in the 20s, pioneers of ’58 raised their glasses.

I’ve never been impressed with the beauty of the Nicollet, but it must have struck everyone as a hearty testament to prosperity.

Much more here, of course.

		Hold on, I thought marathon dances were a sign of 1930s desperation, a metaphor for a failed and rigged system from which no one emerges alive.

		Life on the Range. Or rather the ending of it.

The war really sucked, but at least we got some antiseptics out of it:

Zonite, it seems, pivoted to douches later, perhaps after it became clear they couldn’t dethrone Listerine. The company also made something called “Larvex,” which makes it sound like it’s treating stuff you really don’t want on you. Or in you.

What an excellent question!

Thumbnail of the issue:

The Chester Concession, approved by the congress of the newly founded Republic of Turkey on April 10, 1923, would have allowed United States development of oil and railways. The United States Senate refused to ratify the treaty, and consequently Turkey annulled the concession.

A bit more complicated than that, but that’s the gist.

That will do: enjoy the apex of the week. It's all downhill to Friday from here.