Well, silly, stupid me. There was a Bleat yesterday. I just forgot to upload it. so you get a double-shot today. Yesterday is here.

The other day we went to a house in Edina and took their hostas. The owner had given us permission to do so, because the house would be torn down and replaced with something newer, nicer, bigger. It seems the owner also told others, because when we arrived the beds in front and back were heaped with sundered dirt. . We'd been beat by hostamongers! No, tarry - there are two in front. Why had they left these?

We soon found out: the front “garden” area had a six-inch layer of stones under the mulch, arranged in such a way that suggested the original contractor possessed the spirit of a Roman road engineer. Spadework was impossible until the stones were removed, and this was a laborious effort. I, of course, would have given up immediately, not seeing the point of any of this, but encouraged by my wife I set about liberating the plants from the rock. This whole episode is neither here nor there, and I mention it because something had happened on the street that’s happening all over the old burbs.

This is the old house. Classic postwar rambler. The rest of the street was like this. The google car made its last visit in 2014, and snapped the old dream of the boomers:

The car hasn’t been by, as I said, but the satellites show the difference. Then: the old pareidolia barn:

Now:

Then: a humble home. You can imagine the small TV in the corner, perhaps on wheels. The end-table with Horizon magazine and a copy of Kon-Tiki. NBC Monitor playing on the kitchen radio.

Now:

The old residents complain: the houses are too big. They change the character of the neighborhood. True, perhaps. But the old houses weren’t suitable for modern buyers: kitchens too small. No family room, just a front room that’s never used except for company, and perhaps a knotty-pine basement rumpus room. The closets were small, because people didn’t have the wardrobes of today; the kids’ rooms were small, because, well, they were kids.

Now you suspect there are fewer kids in the bigger houses.

The new houses are nice. The old houses were nice, in their own way. What’s different is how the paradigm shifts completely, and the old suburban view is found wanting, and erased. In the city, the housing stock from the 20s and 30s is still around, and seems permanent. Not many tear-downs. So the city has a layered look, a sense that it abides over the generations. Odd to think of the suburbs as losing their history. Or that the rambler shall pass from the face of the earth, replaced by designs that echo not the post-war modernism of the burbs but the solid old houses of the 20s. Because people want HISTORY SORT OF, but they want their kids to go to school in Edina.

The enlightened urbanists of our time regard the single-family home as the source of our many, many evils. It priviledged the nuclear family, encouraged car dependence, lawn chemical abuse, alienation from neighbors, flight from decaying areas, and so much more. The original sin, right there.

Gaze upon it, if you dare.

 

 

 

 

It’s 1965.

Welcome to Shickshinny and its environs.

Top headline: Wasn’t that the setting for a series of young adult novels for girls?


   
 

Bertelle Yapple read the scripture. They discussed a bill “to have a general election no Sunday.”

Not a lot of proofreading done when it came to the news from Register, it seems. By the way, I can’t find a town named Register. But surely it was there, unless the locals were playing a long, elaborate prank on the paper.

   

News of keen interest to the folks in the greater Shickshinny metropolitan area:

Wikipedia:

In 1996, the airport was renamed after Sultan Salahuddin Abdul Aziz Shah Al-Haj (Salahuddin of Selangor), the eleventh Yang di-Pertuan Agong of Malaysia and eighth Sultan of Selangor.

As the recorded operator used to say, please make a note of it.

No longer the main airport, though.

Partners in the Booty Edwards Architectural practice Kington Loo and C.H.R Bailey are typically attributed with the design. The open structure also featured a massive circular ramp, reminiscent of Berthold Lubetkin's penguin pavilion in London. Most of the structure was removed during a major reconstruction in 1983.

Wait a minute. Penguin Pavilion?

Does this tie back to our B&W World programmer feature about the schoolmarm who solved crimes? I seem to remember a ramp. But no, that was in New York.

   
 

Rip up page one, this is breaking

Can’t argue with it, though.

   

This lament has been going on for half a century.

"Egg" Slegg.

I wonder what town Bill's talking about. Sad thing is, could be a thousand of them.

In the vein of editorials wondering why they don’t arrest crooks at funerals, another head-scratcher?

Yes, it does make you wonder, but I suspect the ladies at Register would write their representatives if gambling as a whole was legalized. Everyone wants a carve-out for their charity, but not for that group or those people; it would bring the wrong element.

It gives you “a sense of security.” Not if you heard or saw “Sorry, Wrong Number.”

The shut-in was a staple of the old radio plays, now that I’m on the subject. The nervous woman who had no specific complaint, just nerves. She stayed in bed all day in a gown and whined and snapped at the help. Sometimes an indulgent doctor would prescribe a tonic.

Good thing she has a picture on the nightstand to remind her who she's married to.

   
  OBVIOUS IT IS
   

Imdb bio just maaaaaaybe was written by someone close to her, or who resembled her, or, you know, is her:

Anne lives in Sherman Oaks California and Las Vegas; she is a featured personality in the Paul Casey Production, American Trilogy, The Elvis Musical, which is the most exciting, original musical concept incorporating Actual Personalities with an Actor-Singer recreating the musical career of Elvis Presley. Anne knew and worked with Elvis Presley and brings her exciting presence to enhance the show and captivate the audience with her youthful appearance and personality. She is an example of her motto "Life is Ageless and Age is Lifeless" TM.

Yes, I'll bet she wrote it.

She is also a Certified Nurse Assistant (she doesn't agree in dispersing medication, when a person can return to health through the means of Holistic Health protocol, so she did not want to be an RN or LVN). She is also a Certified Phlebotomist, Chelation Therapist and Esthetician as well as a Certified Private Trainer.

Wonder if she’s on Twitter, grousing about Covid.

   

 
   

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

 

 

 

 

 
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