The Wedding Weekend, con't.

Now this . . . is a church. I know it's not size or magnificence that makes a house of worship, but this is a church.

Third-largest Catholic cathedral in the states; sixth most-hugest church in the country. (I'm trying not to copy the Wikipedia entry, because then I'd have to link. Although I suppose I'll have to link eventually. Might as well get it out of the way. It's on a hill, which makes it even more commanding. Its dome converses with the State Capitol, so you have your two competing authorities.

Oh, those flyover rubes and their utter lack of culture and sophistication

Random views: slightly modern but still traditional fellows in the Exedrae:

Of course, alcoves with specific purposes and specific saints.

It could be five hundred years old.

The architect was Emmanuel Louis Masqueray, a Frenchman who'd been plying his trade in the states for years. He designed another church in Minneapolis, and it's also a beheamoth.

These mad trad kids today and their desire for sanctified old-world settings! I joked that I had failed in my Godfather mission, inasmuch as he'd gone from Lutheranism to Catholicism; I hadn't even made a pitch.

Marvelous ceremony, no dry eyes in the house, Holst recessional. What a day. I sped home to let out the weeping dog, and hit the hay hard. Up after half an hour, back into the monkey suit (not technically, but you know what I mean) and another drive to St. Paul. Different route. Traffic's good. It's a joy to drive and play music loud.

Haven't had that evening-driving-in-summer-blasting-music feeling in a year.

I've missed it.

Nice place for a reception and dinner: The Post Office / Courthouse / Custom House.

The architect also did the stolid enormous DC Post Office.

Willoughby James Edbrooke (1843–1896) was an American architect and a bureaucrat who remained faithful to a Richardsonian Romanesque style into the era of Beaux-Arts architecture in the United States, supported by commissions from conservative federal and state governments that were spurred by his stint in 1891-92 as Supervising Architect of the U.S. Treasury Department.

"Spurred" doesn't seem the right word. And the bio's a bit sniffy. He remained faithful to a style after something new came along! Horrors. And I say that as someon who prefers Beaux-Arts to RR. Anyway, it's one of St. Paul's finest venues.

I did my video work and ate and listened to speeches and joshed with my old friends until it was time to go. Hit the highway again, high speed, windows down, music blaring.

Two perfect days. I suppose I could've done it with one Bleat, but I've had deadlines galore the last two days. Can't tell you how much I enjoy having deadlines galore. Great name for a cross-dressing Bond villain, that.

This might sound odd, but I think my favorite writing period is Tuesday night, when I write the Substack Outtakes column. By Tuesday night all the important work is done, ice cream is ahead - licorice this next iteration! LICORICE! - and I can just sit down with a single-malt and ramble.

I'm looking forward to Tuesday. Hope you're doing the same.

Yes, I am doing okay. We'll talk about the whys and hows tomorrow.

Now that YouTube really has my number, it's recommending old commercial compilations every day. The quantity and quality is remarkable . . . except when they're ads from the 70s. The quality can be painful, but it's worth it to see the 20th century nadir of the culture.

Poor Bill Conrad has an in-July moment:

Nobody does that because no one smells Mozzarella.

The odd thing about this: It appears to be the sole evidence of this product. Google AI says Kellogg's had a frozen pizza in 1975, but uses this ad as evidence. Grok gave me my first clue, when it pointed to an ad in a Canadian newspaper. Newspapers.com was my next stop, and sure enough: from the Fredericton, New Brunswick Daily Gleaner's shopping column:

I remembered that many of the commercials in the compilation were from Canada. So there you go: it wasn't released in the states.

Good thing, too. I mean . . . Kellogg's Pizza.

It’s 1979.

These are from Byte. You can see how much money’s flowing to the tech sector. Ad budgets are getting plump.

“Can you make it look as if the computer has its own dedicated built-in color monitor?”

“Sure, but wouldn’t that be deceptive?”

“Not if it’s obvious to anyone who isn’t an idiot.”

The text is interesting. You won’t be limited to pre-programmed cartridges. You’ll be programming the machine yourself!

The eternal promise, fulfilled by about 1% of the users.

Some day! And then some day they will be dumb again.

History:

Southwest Technical Products Corporation, or SWTPC, was an American producer of electronic kits, and later complete computer systems. It was incorporated in 1967 in San Antonio, Texas, succeeding the Daniel E. Meyer Company. In 1990, SWTPC became Point Systems, before ceasing a few years later.

The fun productive future:

“After working all day with the computer at work, it's a kick to get down to Basic at home. And one thing that makes it more fun is my Shugart minifloppy™. We use Shugtr drives at work, so when I bought my own system I made sure it had a minifloppy drive.”

The man, the legend:

Alan Field Shugart (September 27, 1930 – December 12, 2006) was an American engineer, entrepreneur and business executive whose career defined the modern computer disk drive industry.

He ended up as the CEO of a little company called “Seagate.” Also:

In 1996, he launched an unsuccessful campaign to elect Ernest, his Bernese Mountain Dog, to Congress. Shugart later wrote about that experience in a book, Ernest Goes to Washington (Well, Not Exactly). He backed a failed ballot initiative in 2000 to give California voters the option of choosing "none of the above" in elections.

A totally normal computer ad for the era. Really.

Many such cases, as the saying goes. The Sol was a dead man walking by the time of this ad:

The first units were shipped in December 1976 and the Sol-20 was a very successful product. The company failed to develop next generation products and ceased operations in May 1979.

It warms my heart to know he scooped a few bucks out of the computer craze.

"Victor Borge demands the world's finest piano for his concert work.
And when he performs at the computer keyboard, he naturally expects the best. The quality mini recording media. That's why he specifies Verbatim."

I don’t think he performed at the computer keyboard.

He played his first concert as a young fellow, in 1926. So from there to the PC era: quite the span.

Good question!

Larger version here. Text explains why they were mad:

That's easy. Because all they ever got was defective or missing parts, inferior workmanship, and garbled instructions. Sound familiar?

We're California Computer Systems. We'll deliver to you what old Doc ordered and never received. Kits without missing parts. Defect-free workmanship backed by years of solid experience. Quality engineering throughout. And easy-to-decipher support documentation.

It was an entire series! Well, two.

“Take a tip from the Invisible Man. He's quit derailing trains, robbing banks, and scaring helpless damsels since CCS gave him what he wants.”

Well, it was the 70s.

If you search for the company name, you’ll find a tech company called Soroc Technology, making POS terminals. But it’s “about” page says it started in the 80s. What the heck is going on? Okay, well: “Undoubtedly the only terminal manufacturer to name themselves after a Brewing Company, with a logo inspired by the product. Soroc was formed in Anaheim, California by Dennis Jay Cagan and four other ex-Lear Siegler employees in 1975, but only exists today as the company that was formed in 1981 to distribute their terminals in Canada."

But what about that brewing company?

SOROC is an anagram. Have fun.

That'll do.Tomorrow: no idea! But something will be done.