An unusual situation at The Fred today. I got an email while I was at the house, and at first I thought it was a reminder of the parking ramp cleaning. They’re hosing down all three levels, one per day, and so everyone has to move. This note said that washing had been suspended because the team had discovered a carbon monoxide situation.

Thus, the entire building would have to be evacuated.

Well, I guess I’m not going there right now. I’d planned to unroll the new rug and put some stuff away, but I don’t want to show up and everyone’s on the sidewalk like a dorm after a prankster pulled the fire alarm.

Another email, an hour later: the Edina firemen would be going unit by unit to open a window and air the place out. At this point I’m wondering how many were already dead on the third floor, and whether they’d have to rent a front-loader. On the other hand, some nice park view apartments might be opening up.

I showed up at the Fred around 4. There were still many emergency vehicles around. I was carrying a vintage table-top fan from the 50s, transporting from old place to new, and I wonder if anyone thought “look at that stupid old dude, got himself a fan to blow away the poison.” Walked down the hall, noting scraps of blue painter’s tape on the doors. My door had no such tape. Either the angel of death was going to pass over or it wouldn’t.

It was cool inside. Balcony door open, office window open. I did not get light-headed and fall over. Made more trips to the car to get things. On the last trip, a woman got on the elevator almost hyperventilating, and she dictating a text about how she thought someone had gotten into her apartment, and

“Ma’am,” I said, waving my arm. “I can explain.”

This was not what she expected, obviously. How did I have an explanation about why someone was in her flat? What was happening? I told her about the CO situation, and how they’d sent emails. Well she hadn’t looked at her emails, she said, and I understood. Everyone hates email now.

So that was the day at The Fred. I was there for an hour. Unrolled the rug. It’s okay! Friday: the desk and the kitchen table. It’s all coming together. Next: grocery shopping and provisioning.

But will I buy any Frito-Lay? Apparently they’re having problems, stemming in part from charging SEVEN DOLLARS for a bag.

During the pandemic — like all food companies — PepsiCo raised prices to manage costs associated with supply chain and labor issues. At first, consumers, flush with stimulus dollars and with little more to do than sit at home and snack, didn’t blink.

Er - were you sitting at home flush with stimulus dollars? I wasn’t. Even if I was, I wouldn’t pay seven dollars.

Of course it made me think of my long-promised Annual Reports site, which will have some Frito content.

1964.

		The fellow inevitably described as "beloved," I think. This ad was closer to the release of "Wizard of Oz" than we are to 9/11. More or less.

Here’s the theme for Mr. Novak, one of those post sir-with-love shows. Highly respected, award-winning, spinach TV that tackled many important issues. Ran two seasons.

Because we live in an age of wonders, I can summon the TV commercial at will. The kid is referencing an ad slogan that hadn’t been spoken in the ad. That's a powerful slogan.

The product demonstrations range from home-on-the-range bean eatin' . . .

. . . to the elegant and presumably fartless Gracious Living tableaus.

The attire below had to make sense, right? It may not have been too common, but it was part of the normal parameters.

The 1958 report has the home office - and believe it or not, this is a significant and historic structure.

This piece explains it all. And . . .

. . . it's an obituary.