There’s a brand of snack chip called “Late July,” and I always wondered why they called it that. It’s not a pleasant connotation. I think “Late July” and a sense of urgency and slight dread arises, as if the summer is rapidly passing - which, of course, it is. In three weeks we will all begin to subconsiously factor in the arrival of Fall. Not yet! But we prepare ourselves in ways we don't realize, I think. And we worry not when we do so, because everything is still in the state of Permanent Green, the way the world has always looked since oh, forever.

Perhaps Late July is the time to stop and gather up the sheaves of the day with a certain mindfulness, to use the word my watch keeps suggesting I practice. Anyway, it was blue and cooler today, almost as if we were seeing a movie trailer for September.

On the way to work, an apparition:

It went around a building and never was seen again. I kept my eyes to the sky as I walked to the office, expecting to see it nose around a skyscraper, but it had vanished. Well, better call the airport and see how the humanity is doing.

Does everyone think of that line when they see a dirigible?

Later in the afternoon I took a walk, and went towards Target. This is the part of town that's always a bit more . . . rambunctuous in the afternoon. Nothing bad, but there are always people hanging around Target, and a cop car across the street just in case. Today there was a fellow declaiming some rules for life in a strident, hectoring tone. A street preacher, I suppose. The problem was that he had a megaphone, and it was turned up to eleven. You could hear his hortatory hollering inside, on the second floor. When I went outside I realized you could hear him for a block away, yelling. I think this is the very definition of public nuisance, since ye gads who can work with that racket?

Assuming there was anyone in the upper floors of the surrounding buildings, that is.

After two blocks the amplified ravings were replaced by Johnny Cash, singing "Ring of Fire." Great song. But why. It was loud, too. Where was it coming from? Oh: the speakers on the Nicollet Mall. I'd never heard them activated. For two blocks I heard the Man in Black sing, and then, loud, it was "Smoke on the Water". LOUD. I passed two people standing in front of giant chess pieces, each with their chin in their hand, studying the game, not moving. A few yards away was a pile of hula hoops, which they set out every day so people can have spontaneous urban fun.

FRANK ZAPPA AND THE MOTHUHS HAD THE BEST something something

Anyone coming here for the first time would wonder what the devil was going on with this town.

I do.

I’m in that paralyzing space where I get to the TV later and later, and don’t want to watch one of the Important Shows I’m following. The queue grows. You end up watching something you might have seen before, just to have a familiar snack before bed.

Oh hey here’s a new option

Sigh

I'm not the target market here, so you can ignore everything I say. I was curious, though. The imdb page has a tag for “implied profanity.” I guess that’s a thing, as they say. But why? They want to say it. They want us to think it, because I’m guessing it conveys authenticity! It’s a comedy and the creator is well-regarded, and perhaps it’s meant to have several meanings, but . . . can we just not do this.

It’s not that the word exists, or that it isn't common, or that don't I say it from time to time, although I don’t like the word. It’s a petty, miserable word, often hissed in panic, used as a replacement for about 394,172 other words. Same with the effenheimer: when it’s elevated to public discourse and normalized, it has a force multiplier and drives out other words. The Gresham’s Law of words.

Ah, but that’s gatekeeping and policing and all that. Why should people have to know lots of words when just a few will do?

The full page:

So this is an ad for Pooh Shiesty, whose last name is a form of the old slang for sh!t. And, of course, Poo. So we have Sh!t Sh!t, which sets the bar rather low for his artistic accomplishments. He has a “song” called “Neighbors.”

The art has old-style maiboxes, and combined with the blue sky, it seems a reference to old suburban ideals. All that cultural seed corn thrown in the fire for Shiests and giggles.

The lyrics are usual festival of low-class sub-literate boasting.   We learn that he takes what he wishes from a commercial establishment because he is having sexual congress with the clerk, and wishes to inform someone who has been exaggerating his stature that he could have him killed for a couple of Percocet pills. Also, God blessed him with superior aim, so when it comes time to kill a rival, he is very good at it.

This, however, sets up an interesting theological conundrum, since he ascribes a previous failure to shoot someone in the head to God being on the prospective victim’s side.

It’s the sort of text theologians will debate for centuries.

It’s 1962.

The Happiest Tasting Protein Cereal ever conceived by the mind of man:

I’m telling you, the boys in product development who were working on Frosted Lingering Death knew they’d lose funding after this one hit the market.

Ah. Those little psuedo-Schmoos. So Sixties. Wikipedia:

Earlier, when Life cereal was first introduced in the 1960s, the original slogan was "The most useful protein ever in a ready-to-eat cereal". The original mascots (in commercials narrated by Paul Frees) were little munchkin-like characters.

The entry says that needs a citation. Okay:

Pro-tee-ins.

I’m curious about something. Not how this tasted - I’m sure it was fine.

I’m curious when gelatin ceased to be a standard dessert.

Maybe it’s my own debased palate, but . . .

. . . I think this looks delicious. Meat! And salt. But mostly meaty salt! And salty meat.

.

It’s the inset picture of the blindfolded woman who’s gone insane but is still an expert in fabric puffiness that really makes the ad.

From the same era:

Another jingle earworm: Everything’s better with Blue Bonnet On it.

The car seems to be floating, and she seems pasted in:

Who? Why, everyone knew.

Ceil Chapman (1912 – July 13, 1979) was an American fashion designer who worked in New York City from the 1940s to the 1960s. She was noted for creating glamorous cocktail and party dresses and for working with celebrity clients including television and movie actresses.

Quite the client list. Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Grace Kelly.

NO.

No, THEY DO NOT.

Or maybe they do.

Note: it sticks to their ribs. Which suggests it makes it way out of the stomach and attacks the skeletal structure, and is difficult to dislodge.

No need to push the product.

Because. One of the shortest slogans ever, and brilliant: no more need be said. You can imagine the glow in the room when the Don Draper of the account revealed this one. Also relief, because now no one had to talk about, you know, it. No more need be said.

Because.

That will do! Off to Quasicomics. I should mention that these recent offerings are dedicated to the memory of the brilliant artist and fine fellow Dave Matheny, who mentioned Peter Pain to me many years ago when we worked at the StarTribune together. He always found the strips stupidly amusing, and I was delighted when I finally found them.