Idiots. They're just morons. Snapped this as I was taking Birch for a very brisk walk around the park and environs after supper. A storm was coming through, and the warnings said gusty winds up to 50 MPH. I could see it coming, see the shimmering scrim in the west that indicated rain. I was also talking to my Boston in-laws as I walked, the latest in a mad non-stop array of human contact. Really! Conversations I have had the elevator today:

A guy got on carrying a pizza box, and headed down. I noted the restaurant, Fat Lorenzo, and said it was a long way from home. He agreed. I asked if he’d tried the pizza at Savoy up the street, and he said that he had, it was good. I withheld my opinion that it was better than Lorenzo’s, since it’s been a while. He got off on the second floor to go the parking ramp, and I suddenly wondered why someone was coming down with a pizza box, then getting into a car. It was like delivery in reverse. Maybe he did everything in reverse. Maybe he made small hamburgers and wrapped them in yellow paper and took them to McDonald’s.

Later, a guy got on carrying two phones. I declined to ask why. He wasn’t looking at either. I did notice his shirt had the logo for ESSO.

“Esso,” I said, slipping into Obi-Wan mode. “There’s a brand I’ve not heard of for some time.”

“I think it’s a gas company?” he said.

I nodded, sagely, and adjusted my rough, dun-colored tunic. “When they broke up Standard Oil, they carved it into seven companies, the Seven Sisters, and they all had different names. Esso. S - O. Standard Oil.” Ding! My floor.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “Thanks!”

No, don’t thank me. Just doing my job, which is being That Guy Who Talks on the Elevator. But I’m not alone; there’s lots of banter on the elevators. It’s a friendly building. That was, however, the extent of my direct human conversation today. I do wish there was more.

A lot of people ask about Birch and say he's sweet. Yeeeah, depends, I suppose; you haven't seen his querulous side. At least he's not one of the yippy screechers who want to claw his eyes out when they get see another dog. The smallest ones are the screamiest beasts you'll ever meet. Birch seems to regard them with indifference and mild contempt. Anyway, he's a great ice-breaker. As much as I tire of the Elevator Life, it does provide some human interaction. If I lived in a townhouse in a burb it would feel even more solitary. But at least there wouldn't be footsteps above.

Foreign footsteps. Hearing family members move around upstairs is different. They can do Cossack dances up there for all you care.

There was a particular creak in the floorboards of Natalie's room. When I was up after dark writing at the kitchen island I would hear it and know she was working on something, too. Then she left. But wife-at-the-time took over her desk for her home office, and I'd hear the same creak.

Sometimes when I am in excellent spirits I realize I'm behaving as if Fred Base One is a well-appointed suite on a cruise ship, and any day we'll dock and I'll go home.

I put up the pictures I discussed last Tuesday. Took a while to choose and print and cut and so on. When I put up one on the wall to see if I liked it there (I didn't; I've rethought the whole thing) I was surprised to see, on the wall, when I removed the painting, three bright smears of blood. Well that shouldn't be there. How'd it get out? I'd cut myself somehow, possible on the edge of the frame or glass or sharp paper of WHATEVER, doesn't matter. Hope it comes off!

It does. This place is designed to be wiped down.

The storm, I regret to inform you, did not deliver the power and terror we had been led to expect. It spit and spattered and moved on. All in all, the worst Monday in a while, but I think that had more to do with trailing edge of the worst Sunday in a while. The day got better. I made it get better.

I was going to use this for Black and White World some day, but I decided that I would start posting old TV here when I didn't have any new TV to do. I could talk about Seven Dials, that breezy 1920s Agatha Christie series on Netflix. I found it charming, even though it had THE COLOR.

But I'd rather give you a challenge. So:

Anthology show.

And he is our old friend:

A butcher with a good family. Everything to lose. He witnesses a hit and run, and here's my first challenge. Do you know who this is? Or rather - do you think you know? I had an instant reaction.

The director of the ep was Anton M. Leader, who was bit in old radio; I thought he might be throwing a pal a bone.

Here’s another, seconds later. How about this guy? Again, the instant reaction based only on what you see here.

Yes, it’s him. It’s remarkable, because I only know him from one television show. He did other stuff, but he'll always be that guy to me.

Probably a hell of a Fizbin player, but I'll bet he cheated.

It’s 1949.

We’re doing newspaper food ads today.

Sheets like this used to be ubiquitous in newspapers. Someone had fun laying them out.

It’s a dead art form. The circulars of today are much nicer, but these are more information-dense.

There are many factors that go into my grocery store choices, but low on the list is Confidence. It seems an odd way of putting it. Confidence that the food won’t be rotten? That seems to be a standard baseline metric.

If you’re thinking some little dinky store with four aisles, well . . .

Photo from Minnesota Historical Society. This is the local chain that would become Lunds, and eventually Lunds and Byerly’s, my favorite store.

Another bygone chain: Red & White. I wonder when it closed . . . whaaaaa? (Record scratch!!!!!) Sorry for the cliches. It’s still around.

I do love the neologisms of capitalism. Kibbies! Crisco! Fab! Vel! Oxydol!

		No argument here.

		Neptune’s Bounty would lessen with time: A product of the Seaboard Packing company. “With dwindling fish stocks and increased foreign competition, however, Stinson Canning slowly began closing various plants. The South Portland location was closed around 1964.”

		What a shock! BREWSTER- When engraver Jack Robinson came home unexpectedly yesterday, he discovered his wife enjoying a cup of coffee - and decided he'd like one, too. Well, before Jack Robinson could say Jack Robinson, Mrs. Jack Robinson had it ready for him—a hearty, delicious cup of Instant Chase & Sanborn! And what a surprise that was! The kind of rich, full-bodied coffee flavor & man really enjoys and always hopes he'll get! (Reason: It's the only "instant" made by a company with 85 years' experience in blending and roasting coffee!) I wonder if he was giddy all day from this unexpected turn of events.

		The hubby-chef trope pops up in the old newspapers, but not often. The pages and the ads were not aimed at men. It used to have a Magic Egg. The “magic egg” was included in the package along with the noodles and soup mix. This Golden Flavor Nugget, as it was called by Wyler’s, the original soup maker, released chicken bouillon, oils and additional flavor into the water as it boiled, giving Mrs. Grass soup its signature taste. It was removed in 2016. People complained.

		I wonder if anyone ever really thought this was good. Not “it’ll have to do” okay, but good. A long-lasting brand. Was there any other old classic brand that had its founder as its spokesman? It’s like seeing the Actual Uncle Ben do an ad.

A long-lasting brand. Was there any other old classic brand that had its founder as its spokesman? It’s like seeing the Actual Uncle Ben do an ad.

Compared to the rest, it’s a clean uncluttered ad.

And just think how much cleaning you can get done with three hands!

That will do. Joe's up around 11.