Look at this fraud. LOOK AT IT. Do you see the concrete walls? Right. That's the truth behind the "earth-sheltered" idea they loved to tout. No one expected that there weren't external walls, of course, but they just piled up some dirt against the side, made a slope, and said it was being sheltered and heated by Mother Earth. Feh.

There were two people standing by the chain-link fence, chatting, perhaps discussing the demise. I got the pictures I needed, and said "worst building in town, good to see it go," and the fellow looked at me for a second, and I thought: Architect? Is he going to set me straight on how it was actually historic and ahead of its time and such? No, he just said "James Lileks" and I had to admit that I was indeed he. (Hello, Steve, if you're seeing this.) terday’s thrilling tale of Zork Storage visit. I got inside by the usual means: call up the app, call up the Access Control Panel, then select the door that comes up when you wave it near the entrance pad. It connects I go in, and as we say, Bob’s Your Uncle At Zork Storage.

I mention this because I am tremendously secure and well-adjusted and feel no need to tell everyone I have a few fumes of fame left, but thought you would be amused.

I forgot the most important part of yesterday's deathless Trip to Zork Storage tale! Let's set the stage with seven silent seconds:

On the way out, called up the app. The page that controls the access options loads, and it’s blank. All blank. Huh. Kill out the app, try it again. Nothing. Well, let’s enter the access code. When I got the new, smaller unit - a tale I’m sure you recall with rue - they gave me a new access code. I wrote it down on a piece of paper and folded it up and put it in my wallet. I took a picture of what the code, and stored it in the password folder of Notes. (We’ll get to that in a moment, if you just said WHAT NOW?) I input the number, and was informed it was incorrect. Retry. Incorrect.

I was stuck. Behind the fence. With the spikes on top.

As I later learned, this was not necessarily as dire as it sounds, since I could’ve called a number and hoped someone picked up, and they could open it remotely, supposedly. I didn’t know that then, though. To my relief someone else came out five minutes later, and I explained the situation to him. He was somewhat incredulous, and almost seemed to think I was asking him to break in. He asked if I was new to this.

“No! I’ve been doing this for months.” I showed him my code, which was properly formatted with the star and hash. “Do you have the app?” He didn’t. So my demonstration of the app coming up with a blank page meant nothing. Eventually he agreed to let me out.

I went straight to the “office,” which is a featureless room whose sole object is an interactive touchscreen monitor, a little bit of a nightmare bureaucratic dystopia right here in beautiful Edina. The first person who answered the call looked annoyed, and there was no volume. I said I couldn’t hear her, and she pointed up at something, then ended the call.

Okay.

I hit the call button again and got a very nice Suthun’ lady who was doing her nails while she assisted me with our problem. She sent me a new number.

It goes without saying that the app worked today. And it also goes without saying that I got a text asking how my visit was, and buster, as people of my parents' generation would say, you had better believe I filled out that survey. I filled out that survey so hard. It's been four hours since I filed it; I expect someone to call by noon tomorrow.

Pardon the short and bland above-the-fold portion, but I have two pieces due tomorrow. Retirement? Hah!

It’s 1906.

Order your binder twine NOW.

Gone are the days when the offer of, as well as the need for, binder twine was an above-the-fold concern.

Mrs. Moore has opened a library!

No reason now for mopery!

People just opened up their own libraries. Why not?

All you had to say was “opposite Dr. Ford’s house.” Telephone #: merely 25.

FRONT. PAGE. NEWS.

It still stands.

Oh the hilarity

1906, San Francisco - everyone would know.

News from nearby Newark:

Newark is still there, but it's been absorbed into a large urban blob. No distinct remaining downtown, as far as I can tell, although I admit to not spending a great deal of time on the matter.

We know what this is about, right?

“The Jungle” came out in 1905.

Wikipedia:

The United States Army beef scandal was an American political scandal caused by the widespread distribution of extremely low-quality, heavily adulterated beef products to U.S Army soldiers fighting in the Spanish–American War. General Nelson Miles called the adulterated meat "embalmed beef," and the scandal also became alternatively known as the Embalmed Beef scandal.

Yum

As a result, most of the meat arriving in Cuba was found to be so poorly preserved, chemically adulterated, or spoiled that it was toxic and dangerous to consume. Adding on to that bones and other sort of inedible animal parts were found, causing public outrage. The meat caused an unrecorded number of illnesses and death from dysentery and food poisoning, having an especially deadly effect on the thousands already weakened by the epidemics of malaria and yellow fever which were ravaging the unprotected American troops and would eventually kill twice as many men as combat with the Spanish.

Since yellow fever frequently causes symptoms similar to bacterial food poisoning (fever, vomiting, severe or bloody diarrhea), little connection was made at the time between illness and consumption of the Chicago beef.

Famous, you say:

Albert T. Patrick (1866–1940) was an American lawyer infamous for his role in forging a will and conspiring to murder millionaire William Marsh Rice in 1900 to seize control of his approximately $4.6 million estate.

Who?

William Marsh Rice (March 14, 1816 – September 23, 1900) was an American businessman who bequeathed his fortune to found Rice University in Houston, Texas. Rice was murdered by his valet Charles F. Jones while sleeping. The murder was part of a plot to forge Rice's will. The instigator of the murder, attorney Albert T. Patrick, was sentenced to death.

Patrick was eventually pardoned. But hell, he seems . . . guiltyish.

A blind item, perhaps?

I’m not exaggerating when I say that everything else in the 8 page paper is advertising, or news items masquerading as patent medicine ads. suggested.

That will do. Lots of outtakes at the Substack today, for paying customers. Thank you, as ever, for your patronage.

Do I sound like I'm getting back to normal? As much as is possible in this new non-normal life?