The heat is on. It’s not on the street, however. (That makes two useless “Beverly Hills Cop” movie references in as many days. That crap is buried deep, it is. I blame today’s reference to the hours I spent behind the counter at Ralph and Jerry’s corner store, where I spent my post-college purgatory time; that damn song came on the radio all the time, and I had to stand there and take it. I wonder if “word on the street” suggested that the heat would soon be on the street; if not, what good is the word on the street? If it can’t detect oncoming heat in its own domain, well, it’s a suspect source of information. That’s all I’m saying. ) It’s in the house, because it’s cold. The temperatures dropped dead overnight and could not be resuscitated; the sun is hiding behind a wall of dirty wool, and the air is dank and achey. So I turned on the fireplace and turned on the boiler.

There’s a witch’s hat on Gnat’s chair; she got it at the Mall yesterday, preparing for her Halloween costume. It makes everything feel like October.

The long, long slog has begun.

Reading my mail today, I accidentally opened some spam; aside from the usual useless come-ons, it ended thus:

Instantly Rob drew the electric tube from his pocket, pointed it at the dog and pressed the button

This sounded vaguely familiar – not because I’d read it before in context, but because I’d googled it the last time I got it as spam-text designed to fool the filters. Sure enough: it’s an L. Frank Baum story about a boy who flies through the air and paralyzes dogs and cops. Here it is.  Charming, in an ancient way. Electricity, The Wonder Juice!

Speaking of boyhood pursuits: I think we all knew, as kids, that cheap walkie-talkies inevitably involved string. This week’s Bleat art comes from a comic book ad, and here’s the real version.

As long as I’m posting big old pictures, here’s something I found at the antique store last week. They had a pile of children’s 45 RPM records for sale. The art on most sleeves was lackluster, but two of them stood out; one was an example of the strange jangled modern stuff they foisted on kids, and the other looks like a hangover of lesser 40s surrealism. Or just a hangover. They’re both cool, in their own way. Here you go.

That’s it for today, because I’m hideously busy. Enjoy, and see you tomorrow.

(New Quirk, of course, and I've fixed the Match link - I have no idea how that happened, since it worked in preview. Note: the icons are the links now, and nothing else.)


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c. 2005 j. lileks. Email, if you wish, may be sent to "first name at last name dot com."