I was in a meeting at work when my phone rang: wife. Hmm. She never calls in the afternoon unless something is amiss, so I excused myself and took the call in the cafe area. She said we have another bird situation. The sparrows in the gazebo, who occupied a cramped nest across from the now-gone robins, are old enough to fall out of the nest and break a limb. Which one did. Two of them fled. The third is now sitting in a box outside, with one side open so the parents can come back, with a plate of water, and some seed.

What is this, a 50s sitcom? Are you wearing a nice housedress and some pearls? You got me out of a meeting to tell me a bird fell? Sometimes you're just the most scatterbrained thing but I love you anyway. Sit tight, I'll be home soon and we will figure out what to do.

Actually, the main point of the call was totell me she had to address the board of directors at 3:30, and would be zooming from the living room, so if I could be extra quiet when I came home. But the bird was foremost in her mind, I could tell.

I will, however, drive the bird to the Wildlife Hospital tomorrow, at the request of the attending nurse. It’s on the other side of town, of course.

When I got home I took a look, and the little bird was sitting on the outdoor table with that go-away puffed-up look. She wanted me to take it to the wildlife animal hospital, where, I suspect, they take the box, thank you for your kindness and compassion, wave goodbye, wait until your car is out of sight, and then (draws finger across throat, makes scrrrrrttchh sound.) I mean, how do you fix a broken baby bird wing? It's not like the cartoons where you have Heckle or Jeckle after a fight with one wing in a sling. But the website says they take birds. Doesn't say what they do with them, but they take them.

But the place closed in 45 minutes, and it was on the other side of town. Rush hour traffic. I'd never make it. So we would take it in overnight, follow the instructions - don't feed it! - and I would drive it in tomorrow morning, if it didn't expire.

An hour later I went back to check, and it was gone! Because it had moved six feet to hide behind a stone, alas.

UPDATE: the bird is gone. Either it healed and flew off, hopped away, or was nabbed by a cat. We don't get cats in the backyard, or at least I don't see any; could be some ninja cat. Or the bird hopped into the area covered by mulch, which happens to be sparrow-hued at twilight - so of course I got out the high-powered flashlight and peered at all the bird-sized fragments of sundered trees to find the little thing, so we could put it in a box in the basement for the night. But it's gone.

I know this seems like a lot, but I'm glad we tried. And even more glad I don't have todrive 37 miles tomorrow to drop off a busted bird.

It's hot. I use the AC in my car when I’m leaving the office. Turn it high, open the windows, blast out all the hot air. Today the temp in the car was quite hot, so I opened the moon roof as well, and hit the Le Mans curve at a speed that was probably a tad over the limit. It’s a great patch of road, with gentle curves, and it’s fun to punch it. I don’t overdo it, because I saw a Highway Patrol car in a secret location six years ago and now expect it every time, but it’s a liberating feeling to rocket out of downtown on the open road, warm wind streaming out, cold air blasting my face, something exhilarating on the music system. The whole thing lasts maybe a minute.

It is, I know, terribly irresponsible, but now and then a man has to channel his inner Captain Pike: hit it.

The use of air conditioning, and a car, makes me a bad person, I know. Which brings me to something related.

When it comes to the big issues - and they’re all big issues if you’re worried about everything - some people defer to the state because it is run by well-intentioned people who are smarter and more compassionate than the people who do not share their goals, or the means to implement them. The goals change - or, as they’d probably insist, evolve. The means may require state coercion, but the alternatives are dire, and the cost in personal liberty irrelevant to the stakes. (In fact, the idea of bring up the costs in personal liberty is a red flag, unless those restrictions have anything to do with sexual liberty, in which case they are sacrosanct.) Anyway, it’s not state coercion, it’s the will of the people, enforced by a fair and just mechanism of which we are all parts, with our own responsibilities.

Anyway. The City of Minneapolis has proposed adding a tax on utilities to fight global warming. There are several ways to make an editorial cartoon about this. You could take a cynical approach that dings local governments for attempting to influence global temperatures, given their track record on other more immediate problems. You could, if you had a skeptical perspective, do an illustration of a poor woman holding a baby in a looking with dismay at a letter from the landlord, saying they were raising the rent because the city had tacked on a climate change surcharge. AI, do your magic:

Or: the preferred approach. Of course he has a red hat, and is an angry white man. But Minneapolis has to increase the cost of utilities, because otherwise we will die, and cactuses will grow in the Gopher state.

One of the comments: "Anyone who's had children is the cause, and your children will pay a price you cannot conceive." What a merry bunch; what a joyful approach to life. No one should have children and the species should die out so the world can revolve in peace around the sun in a never-changing state of eventual perfection.

Until the sun kills it, but that's okay.

It’s 1931.

There’s a story about the Capone trial, and it calls him “Scarface,” in case you thought that the nickname wasn’t used as frequently as later stores suggested. There’s hopeful economic news - steel stocks up!

New World Record set by those daring young men in their flying machines.

Polando died in 1985, in an aviation accident. Boardman, who was a stunt pilot in the movie “Hell’s Angels,” died in 1933 when taking off during an aviation competition.

		When you were a kid you lived in fear of this, like lockjaw. PTOMAINE. Probably the chicken-mayo salad.

The lead editorial:

		In yesterday’s news: historical food poisoning. Based on the menu, it’s hard to say what got them, but "the remaining ham will be submitted to the authorities."

		Had to get that in, for some reason.

Movie Ad: Sin Ship!

What a twist:

A lecherous ship captain becomes spiritually changed by a female passenger, not realizing she and her "minister" husband are really bank robbers.

The star of the movie was also the director, Louis Wolheim. I wonder how many people knew he’d been dead for a while by the time this one came out.

The editorial page had some anodyne remarks on Things in General, a serialized story, a feature piece about a musical act, and the radio schedule.

Both were Minneapolis stations. I guess they got a good skip. Mostly music, it seems. That'll change, soon.

		And that’s exactly where it is today as well! Not so much of a "grove," though. Lots of gorgeous RVs with satellite connections packed close, so you can stay all night, sleep on site, and get up in the morning for more Fair. Lucky folk.

I think people were expected to know what was going on:

The war:

Murray also used the Guard during the "Toll Bridge War" between Oklahoma and Texas. A joint project to build a free bridge across the Red River on U.S. Highway 75 between Durant, Oklahoma and Denison, Texas turned into a major dispute when the Governor of Texas blocked traffic from entering his state on the new bridge. The Red River Bridge Company of Texas owned the original toll bridge and had a dispute over its purchase deal. Murray sent the Guard to reopen the bridge in July 1931. Texas had to retreat when lawyers determined that Oklahoma had jurisdiction over both banks of the river.

Alfalfa Bill was a native Texan, himself. When I read the wikipedia bio, I had to google the name of his place of birth. This article says it didn’t exist. This one says it did.

Well:

		Now two ways to chip in!

That'll do. We begin a new 60s Misc feature: Motel brochures. See you around.