It's like a waveform of my mood.

The Bleat Banner for yesterday and today come from a single picture, the view from across the street at the office front door. It has a sedimentary aspect that strikes me every year.

It may look like this in December, but it doesn't feel bereft. It may look like this in March, but we know it's not for long. It may look like this in January, and we know that's as it should be. When it looks like this in February you feel caught right in the middle of winter eternal, fixed to a slab of marble with a thin icicle right through the sternum.

Well, let's go back upstairs to the Chamber of Shame, shoot a text to daughter to see how her day's going. They had a shoot for a client, and someone tripped over a power cord.

AI was right there to help:

I chose neither, but ended up saying something along the lines of "Oh no, that's unfortunate." I typed another reply to another subject, and was given the option of making it more professional, or more concise. Be less you, in other words. It's optional, of course! You can be all the you you want, typos and all.

At some point AI will offer a typo option to make your reply seem more authentic.

Then the gym. Almost didn't go, because eh, what's your point, and did my crunches with minimal clang. Considered a conversation I had earlier concerning the impending reorg of the newsroom, the relocation of everyone to different areas. I have a nice desk close to a window. Lots of sunlight. It has a low partition, so I can chat with my friend at the adjacent cubicle. The area to which I will probably be moved is full of meercat pens with higher walls, so even if we sit adjacent, there will be no way to converse with the same ease. Of course, this is irrelevant to productivity and duties and all that, but it still is a dimunition.

The editor had a goodbye party after hours; didn't go.

(Here followed 373 intemperate words venting about the decision to kill my professional identity Yeah, better not. Not yet.)

Sorry for the mood around here and the general wan attitude, but I am exactly where I was the day they told me to stop doing what I do, and as I said a while back, I have not cooled a single joule. But there is nowhere to put any of that, and you have to wonder how much of the anger is just refusal to admit your own irrelevance at the place where you'd been so proud to work for so long.

Wife had another run-in at the gym with someone she hadn't seen in a while, and the person inquired how I was enjoying retirement. She had to set her straight, as I do every damned day, that no, management killed the column, and of course I couldn't say that out loud at the time. The friend was shocked, and couldn't see the point.

Every. Damned. Day.

We now continue this year's account of meaningless, random clickings on the internet, following one link from here to there, learning some interesting things along the way. You know, the rabbit hole.

   
  So! What's the journey that takes us from this image . . .
   
  . . . to this one?
   

From site patron Paul, another postcard worth investigating.

First, let’s look at the historical notes:

The Dennis Hotel is one of the oldest names on the Boardwalk. In 1860, only six years after the founding of Atlantic City, schoolteacher William Dennis built a two-room summer cottage for himself on the beach at Michigan Avenue. After relatives caught wind of Dennis’s ideal vacation spot, more and more of them came down to visit, forcing Dennis to continually expand the cottage.

That they did, as you can see.

   
  “Motel.” I love that. Don’t worry! It’s modern. You can park right in front of your room. Not easy to see where the motel is, but I assume it was tucked behind the main building.
   

The additions to the front are gone, but the beast is still standing.

Googling around, I found, via the cursed Pinterest, a page of pictures that show the public areas. No dates or explanation. Probably taken before a rehab.

I should note that I find Atlantic City to be one of the saddest places on earth, and I never want to go back. I also heartily endorse the HBO series “Boardwalk Empire,” which gives you the early days of AC and a fantastic cultural lesson on the late teens and 20s. It’s a masterpiece. Its main character lives in a hotel modeled after this one:

The Marlborough-Blenheim. What a glorious, exuberant pile. And those are some outstanding chimneys.

A Springsteen video begins with its end, in 1978.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been to AC. I did a story about auditioning for Jeopardy! for the news service that employed me, and did a pieceabout AC’s architecture. This would’ve been the 90s, long before the great failures, before the amazing story of the Revel Casino. It cost over $2 billion to construct. It failed. It sold for $82 million in 2015. Anyway: I found an old White Tower, and I think I had a cup of coffee. At a White Tower!

A what? You mean a White Castle, right? No. C',mon, we've been through this! White Tower. The other one. The Kresge to the Kress.

Are there any White Towers left? Why, yes. They’re not White Towers anymore, but the buildings still stand, used for other purposes. If you’re a student of old dining chains, the style sticks out right away. You might think they’re White Castles, but they’re Towers.

Chicago IL:

Dayton OH: the latter-era style. Between-the-wars commercial futurism:

Albany NY:

I’d rather save a hundred of these than one Hotel Dennis.

 

 

 

   

Says their website: "Adams is a growing community with a current population of 604 residence."   I suppose that's so, if it had 603 last year.

It’s a small place. There’s not a lot. But it’s important to give the tiny towns a salute now and then.

KHC

The basement windows make it look as if it’s sinking.

The front of the building is about 1034% uglier than it was when it was first built. Every decision was the wrong one.

For years, I'm sure the KHC was a necessary part of the town, a reassurance, a guarantee: there’s food here, sold by people you know and trust. When strores like this close, small-town lfe is constricted in ways that can never be replaced! Woe until them! Whatever shall they -

Never mind.

When you’re done researching and developing better typefaces, let us know

Hmmm.

I don’t think the light-colored brick fills in areas that used to be glassed. Pretty sure it was always like this.

The addition looks almost contemporaneous. And it could be modern.

The ability to arrange brick in this fashion hasn’t deserted us entirely, you know.

Say now, that’s a lot of bank back there.

And a brand new entrance.

It makes the downtown feel as if it’s not dead, not at all. A grocery store and a large bank that’s still in the original HQ, and didn’t decamp to an ugly modern version? That’s a win.

The dreaded blurry picture.

Because that means . . .

 

A motel? No.

It’s a professional center, mostly medical. Could it have been a motel once? I don’t see why not.

There you go. Continuing the Thursday urban theme, we start this year's additions to the Google Street View site. Wait, how is that different from Main Street Google? It's single pictures loaded with pretentious. The strange things the camera catches, like a guy who seems to be starting a spray-paint vandalism job. An overly baroque tree. A dismal tunnel. Some things just stand out when I prowl the streets on the screen, and they look like accidental art.