My wife got up early, and woke me ten minutes later with dire news: the power’s off. It was 7:52 AM, and my first thought was pure instinct: well then we have to eat the ice cream, or it will melt, and then refreeze, and it will be crunchy. You never want that unless crunchiness has been built into the flavor profile. You know, if it has nuts. But our ice cream doesn’t have nuts. I hate nuts in ice cream. It’s like raisins in toast. I don’t get the appeal.
“Do you know what happened?”
“I don’t know, raisins were mass produced at the turn of the century, and chefs started experimenting”
“What?”
“Sorry, waking. Need coffee.” But then I had a series of illuminations: no power? No coffee maker. Problem. Big problem! No, I have some instant. Boil water. But stove need power to make gas go floof! No problem. Zippo. So I boiled water. Made coffee. Now I was ready to confront the issue of the power being off.
Interesting term: THE POWER. Ask anyone what flows from an outlet, and they’ll say it’s electricity. Maybe “the juice.” But the general idea of the stuff that makes everything work is THE POWER. It’s like The Force.
Shouldn’t you report it? she asked. I had not yet finished two sips of coffee, so I may not have hopped to it with the alacrity that follows a wifely inquiry. I said:
“I don’t think it’s news to them. They know. Alarms are going off. Men are sliding down poles and screeching out of garages with expressions of grim determination.” Pause. “Yes, I’ll report it.”
I called up the website and it told me to text them the relevant info. The automated system thanked me and said I could text STAT for updates. I did this a few minutes later, and was told that THE POWER would be back in an hour and a half. It actually came back in 30 minutes, and I was sent a link to a survey. Was the information provided about the expected repair time accurate?
Here I had a conundrum. “Yes” was not correct. “No” was the proper answer, since they’d montyscotted* the estimate, but it would make me sound unhappy with their service. I decided not to fill out the survey at all. It felt as if I was ignoring a social obligation.
—
* Montyscotting, the practice of overestimating the time it takes to repair a mechanical device in order to impress superiors when the repairs are concluded earlier than predicted
I mentioned I am assembling some massive sites on Annual Reports of the 50s, 60s, and 70s. Once you get started on these things, it is impossible to stop. And by “You” I mean “me” since I don’t think the addictive power of these things applies universally. You, the Bleat Patron, may enjoy having their highlights presented in this easy-to-consume format, but I don’t think you would be compelled to interrogate years of reports looking for pictures that sum up a particular time and place.
Having set myself apart as someone special who labors tirelessly to bring you a steady stream of utter inconsequential things, I give you something that may, if true, result in a sentence that does not appear anywhere else on the internet. Because no one’s figured it out.
Take a look at this fellow.
Look at his cheek.
The craggy epidermis. That’s what made me think . . . (and here comes the sentence)
In 1975, Edward James Olmos may have appeared in an annual report for 7-11.
He would’ve been 28. An actor, no doubt picking up work when he could.
Then I think, nah.
I called up Brian Eno, because it had been a while. He answered the phone and I said my name in a familiar but slightly mocking way, as I was aware of its relative unimportance but also wished to communicate that it had some cachet. He responded in a tone that was almost noncommittal and lacking enthusiasm, but not hostile, as if he did indeed recognize me but couldn’t imagine why I was calling. I said it had been a while and wanted to point out something of his that had been referenced in another interview of someone else. The next thing I knew I was showing him around a large apartment I planned to rent. It was very modern and spacious. I was staying in another unit but intended to move. It was around a large courtyard that had a fountain.
And now, a related feature that will provide some Friday amusements:
For the Substack column on pennies, I asked the AI to put me on a penny.
Oh, NAILED IT
Here I have been cursed by some arcane necromancer who deals entirely in small units of currency. and turned into a Leprechaun of Pence.
"Turn off that light!"
"Sure. There, now that I haven't turned it off, talk"
And that's it for Fridays! Ha ha kidding, of course it's not.
The YouTube page says "This was the most successful U.S. single release for Martino during the period between 1952 and spring 1963, when his comeback hit “I Love You Because” reached the top 5." Hmm. Perhaps this was a re-release.
Then again, I'm going by the Whitburn numbers, so who knows. In any case, it's that sobby Italian stuff. Goodfellas soundtrack stuff.
We're done with the week. Or ARE WE? No: Substack and Curious Lucre.
Have a great weekend, and see you next Monday.
