NOTE: I am posting things written last week. Probably get back to present tense tomorrow.

Saturday (the 18th) we hosted an Engagement Party for my godson, sire of the Giant Swede, and his lovely bride.-to-be I’d offered the venue a month before and, of course, completely forgotten. Was reminded of this upon my return, and thought: well that will be lovely, and we won’t have to do much work, since the parents were adamant about us doing Nothing and them doing Everything. But you have to something and you want to do As Much, right? Right. So.

I’d been home three days. The mood was exceedingly genial, and not in the exaggerated, mannered sense of a European court in the 18th century, with sarcasm delivered with honey or offhand remarks uttered sotto voce behind fans. I mean, good. So we set to work cleaning and decorating. I wrapped some trees and bushes with lights, and spent an enjoyable mind-off-it-all session getting the bride’s playlist on to the outdoor speaker setup, with little HomePods arrayed in the bushes and by the fence. Worked perfectly, except for the part where the main big HomePod - getting cranky in its old age - would crap out because a squirrel ran across an extension cord. Regular trips from the frazzled parents, bearing drinks and meat and chips and cheese and all manner of delights. Birch, very keen on all this. Something told him that food galore would be had, and had easily.

I took some drone shots of Jasperwood, thinking “This will look nice on the realtor’s listing.”

By the way, anyone want to buy a house?

Sigh

But that is a done topic. That is settled. In fact it’s remarkable, really, how many things are OVER. I have shed my entire old sense of myself as defined by work. It’s just gone. And that’s fine. The office feels like a foreign country now, its daily routines and personalities a bygone existence that almost belonged to someone else, someone who had no idea what was ahead. I am disconnected to all that. Ritual and routine and the post-work habits and the daily structure - poof. I’ve been cleaning out my closet, the museum of 20th century flotsam, and it’s all the effort and interests of someone from the 2010s. I’m still interested in it, but the pride and pleasure of possession belonged to that guy, and while I know that guy, I’m now the guy who sees him across the street at twilight and doesn’t wave because he might not recognize me.

That morning I took a few boxes of electronics to the neighborhood recycling effort. They were not packing them in as they might have hoped. Got rid of a lot of stuff, including an object of particular importance and minor (or not) career tragedy.

The old MacBook Brick, my first laptop. I wrote the Myst novel on this one. I was subsequently fired from the project for joking in an interview that I was adding some sex and violence to the story, which was true, but it was just romance and actual action, which the original draft by the Brothers lacked. The novel is still on the hard drive. Or was. Can't find the power supply. It's old. Goodbye.

This was also the laptop I was using poolside in LA one day when a man in a thick white bathrobe waved me over to ask me about the machine, and what it could do. Of course I hopped right over, being a happy Mac Advocate and also because he was Telly Savalas. He lived at the hotel and had a bar / restaurant there. Complete gentleman. I enjoyed the chat.

I also used it to cover the Bush campaign, and before I went on a whistle-stop campaign I wrote a little Hypercard animation that showed the laptop communicating with a satellite. Dotted lines traveling up, jargon (CONNECTION ESTABLISHED FILE TRANSFER IN PROGRESS), progress bar, and so on. I would sit next to big-paper guys writing on a portable word processor that had two lines of text and an accoustical coupler, and hit the START button and whistle tunelessly while the program played. Got a few glances. What a maroon.

On the way back to my car I saw a guy lugging a monitor from the milky-white-translucent-plastic-with-pinstripes era of Mac gear, and I said hey, I had one of those. I loved it. He said he loved it too.

The party was amazing, by the way. Everyone was so incredibly happy. The house was perfect, and everyone loved the backyard and lights and music, and Birch was good. I ended the day in a delirium of hope.

The next day the Giant Swede and the Crazy Uke came over after football and helped to strike the set. It was another brilliant day and it seemed as if the beauty and benevolence of fall would last forever.

(The picture at the top is from that day. Since then, half the leaves have fled)

Oh, you may think this is just one boomer shuffling through old game shows, trying to convince people that this was an actual art form and a uniquely American creation that says more about the culture than you think, but that’s exactly what it is. Except for “art form” part. We can probably argue about that.

We certainly learn things about the garments and hats of the day:

Arlene’s wearing a hollowed-out head of iceberg lettuce.

But then there’s this.

Everyone had to put on the masks because they might recognize him.

He was William Schuman, and he was . . .

I’ve never heard of him, which I regard as a personal failing. He was a substantial figure in American high culture in his day. I’m about to experience his work for the first time, and I’m going with the violin concerto, which was singled out as an exemplary works. He composed symphonies as well, and this is a good trivia question: who wrote eight symphonies but started them on number three? (He withdrew his first two symphonies, which is a fascinating concept. Withdrawn. Never to be heard again. Silenced forever.)

I just love the fact that the panelists had to be blindfolded because they might recognize a composer. Says something about them, and the times.

Okay. Let's listen.

Eh. I'm not saying it leaves me cold but I'm not overwarmed by it.

It’s 1935.

How many expositions did they have in the 30s? Every time you turn around, some city’s throwing a shindig.

The story:

The California Pacific International Exposition was an exposition held in San Diego, California during May 29, 1935–November 11, 1935 and February 12, 1936–September 9, 1936. The exposition was held in Balboa Park, San Diego's large central urban park, which had also been the site of the earlier Panama-California Exposition in 1915.

The idea for an exposition came from Frank Drugan, a newcomer to San Diego, California, who arrived in 1933. He recognized the potential of the buildings in Balboa Park left over from the 1915–16 exposition; the buildings had been designed to be temporary, but had been refurbished and upgraded several times and were available for use. In addition, Chicago's "Century of Progress" fair was just ending, and many of its exhibits could be transported for use in another fair. That exposition had paid for itself, and he was sure a San Diego exposition could do so as well. He promoted the idea of a new exposition, using the existing buildings and adding new ones, as a way of boosting San Diego's economy. He convinced local business people to support the idea.

Well, it cost $20 mil to build, and brought in $37 mil, so hooray for Frank.

		Say, as long as you’re making plans to hit the Expo, why not stay here? It was built by . . . are you ready? Ulysses S. Grant. Junior. Went up in 1915. Still taking reservations.
		Or try this place: A 1926 Apartment Hotel. It survives as well.

You too can be an irrational, aggressive beast - just drink Bud!

Turns out they’d fight for a salt lick, and that seems an odd thing to connect with beer, unless you think "after licking salt, beer would be nice." But: "when you sweat, you lose salt, which is replaced by a balanced meal, and a Bud goes good with a balanced meal. "

Also, "America's favorite is a most healthful hot weather drink for another reason. It contains enough warming alcohol to prevent harmful chilling of the stomach when a cold drink is desired. Drink BUDWEISER — the health drink — the natural drink —the all-year-round drink."

That’s the funniest thing I’ve read today.

Gertie’s looking rather sultry here. Or asleep. Or dead.

Her:

Gertrude Niesen (July 8, 1911 – March 27, 1975) was an American torch singer, actress, comedian, and songwriter who achieved popular success in musicals and films in the 1930s and 1940s.

She did okay. Died too soon at 63, although who knows; maybe it was enough.

More relaxing than a car trip, no doubt. And forget about flying. You can’t afford it.

If you're asking why the train would have to advertise when it was so awesome, well . . . cars. Relaxing or not, that's the paradigm. Passenger rail in the US peaked in 1920.

But maybe you could afford a Dollar Liner?

Named after Bob Dollar, the founder.

Robert Dollar, founder of the Dollar Steamship Company—Dollar Line—was born in Falkirk, Scotland on 20 March 1844. Dollar worked hard, and intelligently, to become a maritime industry giant, targeting the Pacific Ocean market rather than the overcrowded Atlantic. At its height in the 1920s, Dollar Line was the largest and most profitable US shipping firm. The company’s unique white dollar sign logo could be seen on red-banded funnels around the world. Dollar ocean liners included President Hoover (1930) and President Coolidge (1931).

Foundered in the 30s, and was sold, reorganized, and went into cargo.

There’s something about this ad I love - the handwriting makes it seem as if it could’ve been made yesterday. It’s so personal.

That’s half the ads on two pages of an ordinary daily paper.

That will do for today, except of course for the updates (free as ever like all this stuff for now) and the latest chapter in the Joe Ohio story, over at the paid section of the Substack. Thank you for your patronage, as always. And no, I'm not okay. Did you read this far? Couldn't ask for more.