The banner above is a Google Street view that looks a bit ominous, when you consider the whole story. We'll get to that.

Here's your St. Patrick's Day Diner, which one commenter said took a remarkably dark turn. I don't recall that. Possibly the case.

Subdued weekend, for reasons I needn’t blab about here. No blabbing. Lost word, that; I wonder if there was ever an archaic version, like “blabst.” He doth blabst like a flatulent goose. Point being, some weekends are just better than others. It wasn’t entirely because of the stark cold that reminded you how March delights in a crack and a slap, but that was part of it. The wind picked up the gazebo furniture and knocked it over, burrowed under the rug and blew it askew. Leaves long dead filled the patio; Bog knows where they came from. The temperature dropped fifty degrees. The fireplace was a comfort, as was a new whiskey I’d bought at my regular central-nervous-system-depressant dispensary.

It was, shall we say, an entry-level blend. (I like blended whiskeys. They are underrated.) It had a prominent 8 on the label, so I assume it’s over a week old. The website noted that its palate includes “heather,” who perhaps is the receptionist, and “shellfish.” This is not a flavor note I have heretofore found essential. I did not detect any shrimp. A review - quite positive, I should add - found no shellfish, but instead detected something called “winter spice” as well as “pine needles.” The finish had a hint of “canned pears,” which again my untutored tongue did not detect. I did note a hint of “tin,” so that might have been it. All in all, a good addition to the bottom shelf.

Mostly I wrote. It’s a three-column Monday - National Review, Substack, and of course our Bleat. So let's get on with that.

A Reddit threat on Google Earth Finds posted a little gif of some empty desert land with empty streets. The replies identified it as a land-scam fake development, and noted there were several such examples in the Southwest. Links lead to satellite views, and I find these fascinating.

Let's zoom out a bit.

It's a huge development, and was projected to extend into the hills:

You can go a little mad imagining all the lives and stories that might have taken place here, if it had ever been built up.

The brochures promised Gracious Living:

Only one problem:

That growth wasn’t feasible due to a lack of utilities like water, stormwater and sewer systems.

That’s because back in those days, there were no regulations in place that required developers to install these before selling plats of land.

It all finally came to an end in the 1990s, after the state of Texas passed laws against developing subdivisions without utilities.

Yes, you do need those things.

I gather that many are held by untraceable people who bought them, died, passed them on. Some went ot the county for unpaid taxes. It's a mess to sort and hence nothing gets built.

All the images above are outside of Albuquerque. I found an ad . . .

. . . it invites people to buy in beautiful Belen, NM. Same ghost streets.

If you didn't look from above, you wouldn't know anything had been planned. You wouldn't turn off on a gravel road in search of empty cul-de-sacs. From above, it looks like what it is: a graveyard for the retirement dreams of people in New Jersey who wanted to end their years in the sun.

The trademarks of a 100 years ago is our theme this year.

Slicers, forks, egg turners, and other . . . well, you know.

The local paper has some inadequant stories the operation here and here, along with evidence that the trademark changed. The poorly constructed article ends thus:

Handy Things manufacturing Company no longer operates in Ludington, but their products continue to be used by consumers today as evidenced by the recent purchase of the company’s signature tree stand for use at Christmas 2023.

By whom? Where? Does the company still exist at all?

If it's a Fifties movie, you know she's going to be reaaaaal bad in a particular way:

What is a wicked woman? Let’s ask the singer:

Sung by Herb Jeffries. Born Umberto Alexander Valentino; September 24, 1913 – May 25, 2014. Ethnicity varied depending on when you asked, it seems.

She gets into town, lights one up . . .

Hoofs it into the Tawdry District.

Heads for the boarding house and instantly gets ogled by our old friend:

Percy Helton. She has about a foot and a half on him, height-wise.

She gets a job at a bar. Sets her cap for the owner, who’s married, by giving him irresistable melting looks of passion:

He's immune until he isn't. You know how this is going to go. Bar owner get het up, scheming ensues. Are they going to snuff the wife? Is this is a Postman-Rings-Twice type situation there?

Ahhh and here I think, I’ve seen this before. But I don’t see it in the extensive but uncollected Black and White World archive pages, whcih have been offline since forever and form a daunting job, since there's about 300 movies to add. Which I probably won't.

Anyway, a coin-op game:

Ace Bowler, 1950. I miss those.

Hey, I’ve heard this cue before:

And I’ve heard this one!

And now I know where: it’s used almost every episode in the first few seasons of Alfred Hitchcock Presents.

Anyway, she's wicked. But I do appreciate the little bits of inadvertant documentary, even if they show strange undersized humanoids like a bad AI illustration.

To be fair, Beverly Michaels was a very tall woman.

That will do. Another week begins here at the Bleat with your usual Matchbook update, and a free column at the Substack. I think I'll make the whole week free, for promotion's sake. I am a generous god.