Woke from a nap too early. I’d turned off notifications - or so I thought. Something from Domino’s leaked through. Pinged, and woke me. I looked at it and it turns out that Domino’s wanted me to order a pizza. No. No, I will not.
I am not a Domino’s hater. When they reformulated their sauce years ago they did it right, and when I ask for extra, I get what I want. The crust isn’t ironed-newspaper, like it used to be. The cheese is a cypher. The sausage isn’t uniform-shaped nodules, but individually shaped portions. It is completely acceptable. I hate going to work. It just aches now.
When reheated, though, it’s like it’s made entirely of plastic and wet straw. I am not a microwave reheater, by the way. That’s just heart-attack paddles on a corpse. The toaster oven reanimates the spirit of the cold slice. I want to quit my job.
It’s not a pizza night, Dominos. If you knew me at all you’d know that. You’d hit me hard on Fridays with great deals. But no. So I turned off notifications and made a cup of coffee, then sat down to do some things before dinner. The “quitting” part might be moot, though, because I think they just want to get rid of me.
Earlier in the morning I’d been cleaning up some bookmarks and saved website pointers, and was reminded that I had not downloaded enough monoaural airplane background music. Most of it is dreck, but even the worst is interesting dreck. So I hit the internet archive link and downloaded something American Airlines piped into the cranial apertures of passengers in 1972. Followed a few links and ended up on one of those Internet Archive pages that collects things you never thought anyone would ever upload, not in a million years. Maybe if you trained monkeys do it, but those would be low-skill monkeys; the clever ones would be typing randomly in the certainty that one of them would someday write the complete works of Shakespeare. I mean, I’m not Shakespeare; who is? But the idea that I am now some untalented embarrassment to be sloughed off is neck-snapping and insane and humiliating.
I always felt sorry for the theoretical monkey that typed the entire works of Shakespeare except for one letter. To Be or Not To Be, That Is the Qkestion. So close! In the infinite-monkeys-producing-Shakespeare scenario you always wonder if there’s someone overseeing this operation, walking up and down the aisles, checking work, wearing earplugs to mute the racket. Do the monkeys screech while they type? Are they bent to their task in silence, issuing the occasional hoot? It’s not as if they know when they’ve typed the entirety of Shakespeare. They'd keep typing. No bell would ring to indicate the task was completed. It's odd to be downtown and have six ideas for a column or a piece and remember that they don't want them anymore. The other part of the humiliation is the uselessness, and neither were expected.
So the clicking led to a site of corporate annual reports, and I had the usual two-stroke reaction: THIS IS FANTASTIC and also I HAVE TO DO A SITE ABOUT THIS NOW, DON’T I. There’s so much here, so many fantastic images of the 50s and 60s and 70s. Not that I would do it for the paper, because the past is boring and irrelevant unless I can figure out a way to tie the corporate report from 1956 to Taylor Swift Gives Tim Walz a Hamburger Recipe, which would be a ratings bonanza.
I mean, look at this:
There's a whole world in that shot! I can already see how the subsite will be the first to span five decades of the Decades project, a single theme that touches on the 40s through the 80s. Should I get started now, or wait until I get a memo that says I can't have an opinion anywhere because I am no longer an opinion writer, and hence must maintain strict objectivity in all my public manifestations? That would probably be intended to make me quit.
I downloaded them all, and now I'm finding some wonderful stuff. Can't say when I'll put it up, because I could pass out from stress and fall down the escalator and really have those hungry, hungry serrated teeth take a bite while I had a stroke so maybe 2026.
Filed my last column today. Hurt worse than I expected. And I thought it would hurt, a lot
Our weekly recap of a Wikipedia peregrination. Expect no conclusion or revelations, but if you've been with us since this started last year, you know . . . sometimes we learn interesting things.
I had an ad with a picture of a slogan on a T-shirt. I can't find it! Bad web admin! So I'll have to do a newspaper search . . .
1984. Come on in to T-Shirt City! How do we get from here . . .
. . . to there?
If you’re of a certain age or a student of American culture in the 80s, you can make this connection in a second.
Now, we all know to what the T-shirt phrase alludes. Right? No, I suppose not; there are kids who have no idea why anyone would put this on a shirt, or why it was considered a quote of note at all. People of a certain demographic know it’s from a Wendy’s commercial, and it’s funny! Because it was said by a frankly old lady, whose name was . . .
Clara Peller, correct. I think she killed her career when she went over to Prego:
This was a case of another product’s campaign putting a word in the mind of the viewer to imply beef.
Wikipedia: "There were many 'Where's the beef?' promotional items, including bumper stickers, frisbees, clothing patches, a Milton Bradley game, and more."
A game?
Yes:
Art by none other than the great Jack Davis, I think. A boardgame site:
Players must move across the restaurant-themed game board, searching for the coveted beef tiles. The first to find all four tiles wins the game and can happily claim that they have found the beef.
Well, surely that was the farthest reaches of catchphrase exploration -
Ah.
The opening is almost Godly and Creme c. Ismism
Coyote was a Nashville DJ.
Then there’s this.
A Filipino artist.
Of course, the phrase would be used by Walter Mondale to undermine Gary Hart. Mondale was an unlikely person to make a pop culture reference, and did not do so with particular authenticity, but it didn’t matter.
Which leads us, I suppose, to the real reason Hart didn’t advance, and that was the scandal of a woman sitting on his lap.
Kidding! The lap photo came after he'd dropped out. Most people think that's what did him in, but no.
Donna Rice has since gone on to books and foundations and general good work. And she did an ep of Miami Vice. Both Hart and Rice denied they'd had an affair.
Clara Peller had dief the year before.
Back to Wikipedia, talking about the catchphrase:
In 2011, Wendy's revived the phrase for its new ad campaign, finally answering its own question with "Here's the beef”
The T-shirt people should've copyrighted it.
Three thousand souls. Close to the largest lignite mine in the US, so if you're looking for raw lignite, this is your place. Founded the year WW1 broke out, and named for the niece of a local developer. Slogan: "Small town appeal, Big City Looks."
Well, we'll see about that.
I always start at the edge of downtown, then work inwards.
Poor building on the right got the cask-of-amontillado treatment. The flower baskets indicate there’s some civic pride.
Well, yes, unfortunately, if you don’t like it.
No doubt there’s an old facade behind the brick and siding. Buckaroo sighting #1.
No doubt there’s an old facade behind the brick and siding. Is there an echo in here? And it’s not brick, but faux stone on the bottom.
Three layer cake, two story building.
Hmm.
You know what this was, right? There’s only one thing it could be, with that style. But where was the main entrance? The ticket booth?
If there was any doubt:
Cinema Treasures: "Originally opened as the Princess Theatre prior to 1926, it was renamed Roxy Theatre in 1937. Located on the corner of West Main Street and First Avenue NW in the downtown section of Beulah. It was closed by summer of 2016."
Oh, I think it was closed a long time before that.
Now, you didn’t have to go and do that. Buckaroo count: 2.
The sheets of faux stone fooled no one, ever, anywhere.
Old car dealerships of a certain era loved the glass blocks. Modernity! They might sell four cars this summer, maybe five if the crops came in good.
OUMB:
But props for the 60s-modern signage! Nicely stripped down to its essence. Or maybe they were just cheap.
You know it has to be a public building, and indeed, it is.
Finally, something old and more-or-less unmolested.
Rather idiosyncratic. Maybe hired a local who'd never done three stories.
Hello, Andrew
The Class of 2021, captured for eternal posterity by the passing Google Car.
If they had a sense of humor, they’d hang a sign that said “Jail.”
Three thousand souls. Close to the largest lignite mine in the US, so if you're looking for raw lignite, this is your place. Founded the year WW1 broke out, and named for the niece of a local developer. Slogan: "Small town appeal, Big City Looks."
Well, yes, unfortunately, if you don’t like it. 
