Was there another catastrophe today? There was! All of this, which I will relate at some point, has nothing to do with anything that has characterized the mad daft days, except it does inasmuch as we’re selling the house, but

And there I stopped typing a 5:55, because my timer went off for supper, so I went downstairs and, maneuvering around all the mess and detritus from The Projects, made the salads, chopped the peppers, then took the lasagna out to remove the film so it could brown, which gave me five minutes to do something else, so I replaced a light bulb, then swapped out a Hue in the corner lamp for the sunporch Hue, because it had been giving the Quick Flash of Death when turned on, then I connected it via QR code with the app and cut up the lasagna, served it, and was informed I had failed to do something necessary for the workman who’s coming tomorrow for A DIFFERENT THING. This was more wifely stress and I had no defense, having forgotten to get a thing, so I drove to Menard’s, found a rack of the things, reached up, and somehow one of the heavy objects in its plastic package fell on my face and cut my cheek.

So now I’m bleeding. I have nothing to stanch it, so I use my gloves, which aren’t really absorbent at all, and I’m trying to send a photo of the item to the handyman to see if it’s the right thing, all the while bleeding some more, thinking, I’ll be they’re used to this in the saw department, but not plumbing.

I should note that I’d already got a replacement globe lamp for the kitchen. I had swapped those out last year for some smaller lights that had variable light profiles: you could go from operating-room to dim and golden. Current Wife wanted the globes; I had two in the basement; one was dead. So. I bought one. Then I thought, no, I should get two, so I went back. There’s a guy whose cart is right in front of the very bulbs I need.

Hey ho commin’ through, what are the chances, two guys in an empty store at night, same bay, let me just get this one -

And as I pull the box out it catches on the box the boxes came in, and they almost spill to the floor.

“Almost broke the lot,” I said, and the guy said, “that would’ve been bad, James.”

“Right.”

Hold on -

What?

Ah! It’s the father of one of Natalie’s childhood friends. We chat. I say we’re selling, downsizing. Same question: “where you going next?”

“That’s complicated,” I say. “Some different opinions.”

A workman asked that question the other day and I gave the same answer, and he said “Yep, same with me and the wife, I want to go to Leech Lake for the fishing, she wants to stay in the Cities were her friends are.”

“And you’ll lose,” I’d said. “I’m sorry.”

On the other hand, though, Leech Lake. So named for reasons you may have guessed.

Good fishing, though. I’ve been there.

Oh, wait, what was the first catastrophe to which I alluded? Well, a few weeks ago we got the floors refinished. Today one of the techs working on another project pushed a box on the floot and scratched the hell out of it.

Now, for no reason, except as a palate cleanser, a nice bit of history that has nothing to do with anything: something that caught my eye in a 1959 Architectural Records issue. I'm always interested in these small modern office blocks, and wonder if they still dominate the fusty old landscape of whatever tired burg they were dropped.

Hold on, this is in New York? But it's so small, and it has no neightbors.

Let's see if we can find it.

Uh oh.

Same address. Nothing else around that looks right. Did they tear down the old building and construct sometthing that looks smaller? Let's go back in time . . .

Ah. An improvement, I guess. The next building in the round-up:

Well now there's a unique structure that will certainly stand out

Actually yes, it does. And I'm not sure that was a good thing.

It looks like it's trying very hard to pretend it belongs, hoping no one notices

Why am I doing this again

Because no one on the internet has ever spent any time whatsoever examining the Bally Prefab Ad Campaign

Prefabs for cloud-based mass feeding

We're supposed to know they're stews, which I found interesting.

It’s 1945.

You can’t believe it: he’s home for good.

And the Army put on some bulk, too. Really - I read stories from the papers at the time that lots of guys came back in better shape than when they left, because the chow was steady and better, and they were humping a pack all around Europe.

The copy, to be fair, says he's not only older, but "a little bit heavier or thinner, perhaps."

Quite the washday outfit. How many women looked like this on laundry day? Special apron, special headgear?

Duzzed ‘em! No one used it as a verb, but it was a clever coinage.

Chang-kai Shreck or whoever would approve

The 40s mannish look.

You don’t know whether to sniff it or send it to the lab to see if it's extraterrestrial in origin.

I’ve seen Strange Affair. It’s an odd movie, and I recall that it had a ridiculous ending. Well:

The film was previewed with five different endings and the existing one (a complete departure from the play) was selected for reasons of popular response and censorship, prompting the resignation of producer Joan Harrison from Universal Pictures. She left with two more pictures left on her contract.

Breakfast cereal, the outwardly-protection-generating food:

Those box scooters. Did kids just . . . make them? Did Dad make it? Did they fall over as much you'd think?

“The 40s - such elegant, classic style”

“Technically from farms, yes. And butter’s from farms, too! Ergo.

Nice little Gildy bit down there. Kraft was a long-time sponsor, and the upright morality of Mr. K kept the show clean and patriotic and reverent on Easter and Christmas.

That will do. His Nibs awaits.