At the risk of spoiling that up-to-the-second vibe we all get from blogs, I must note that it’s Monday for me at this moment. Mid-early mid-afternoon Monday, which would be 1:38 PM. I’m between columns. I’m home. I’m bored. I have the attention span of a OH LOOK, a red truck outside. Pretty. The fridge is loud, as usual; it’s driving me mad, partly because it’s not that loud. It’s just louder, and the sound has a faint throb to it as well. It’s the middle-aged version of that piercing high-pitched sound they use to drive off teenagers. You know, Kirsten Flagstad.   It’s bright and sunny outside, which is nice; the snow is dense and perfect for snowballs. It also collapsed the roof of the Gazebo an hour ago, but I can get it back up. It’s shot, anyway. The designers did not factor in such wildcard elements as “wind” when they designed it; the Velcro ties that held it to the frame – Velcro! – ripped off right away, and the ones that held on ripped holes in the fabric, admitting copious water.

It looks pathetic now, though. The Victory of Winter Over Hope.

Let’s check the mail.

Okay, I’m back! That was fun. There was a box from BestBuy, containing my new TiVo remote; it replaces one that died due to constant child-instigated droppage. Interesting: it’s grey, and much lighter. Also a letter – hmm; it’s from California, from someone who has the last name as a client in a Marlowe novel. Perhaps one of those nice atta-boy missives that always gives me a pause: how did you find where I lived? But of course I suppose anyone can, what with public records and the like. . . hey, cool! Postcards. Thanks, Alex. Also a notice for Jasper to get his heartworm test – that’s a little early. Hello, it’s a subscription renewal notice from “Stuff.”  I have never subscribed to “Stuff.” Not even its highbrow predecessor, “Detritus.” But they send it anyway. I don’t want it. Maybe if I give them money they will stop sending it to me.

Well, let’s get the big time-wasting pictures out of the way, because it’s column AND book AND “24” time tonight, and I have an other column to write before three.

Gentlemen of a certain age will recall this:

It was on the back of every comic book, it seemed. I don’t know anyone who wasn’t tempted, and anyone who actually did it. Whiel sorting through some updates for the Comics section, I gave it a second look – especially the testimonials, which I’ll bet came from the early 60s.

I’ll bet you did, Des. Now: is he still around? Google has an address and phone number in New York, and someone with his unique name wrote a thesis on Safety Assurance Standards in regards to Legacy Software. Des looks like the sort of kid who was already building a UNIVAC in the garage when he was 8, which would mean he would know a good deal about legacy systems. Probably him.



The women are harder, since they marry and change their names. Unless they don’t. Heeeere’s Mary:



And here’s another Mary Zimmerman – same one? She graduated from the U of Minnesota in 1976, which would could put her in the right age zone. I suppose I could e-mail her and find out. It would be amusing to learn she has a form letter she sends to anyone who inquires about the matter.







Bachelor #2:

And with that winning smile, why wouldn’t he? Nothing conclusive comes up on JB. On to the other guy:











Voted Most Likely to be a Small-town Insurance Salesman who also heads up the Kiwanis and the Lions? Maybe; there’s this fellow, who had an art exhibit (cached site is useless) and I think he’s good for the collar, eh? But it’s hard to say.





Now let’s go back another three decades. For the book I used a Bisquick pamphlet that featured the Big Stars of Hollywood, plus socialites who also used Bisquick. Or rather bade their servants to use it.

Who’s this?

Why, it’s the wife of a rich insurance company exec:

The year this book was released, Mrs. Masten Gregory was widowed by the death of Masten Gregory himself. She liquidated the estate, which meant that her son grew up very, very wealthy. He did the sensible rich-young-man thing, and converted the loose cash directly into the fatest automobiles on the planet. He did 42 Grand Prix before expiring in 1985. Ladies and gentlemen: the “Kansas City Flash.”

How about this one?

This is a bit more difficult. She is:

Google that, and you find websites devoted to raising sunken ships. According to this site (and other sources), Mr. Buhl was a wealthy industrialist who built a ship, the Anona, for his wife. He died in 1907, after which his wife had it until 1924. Okay – well, this picture was supposedly from 1935, so I don’t think that’s her. It’s probably the wife of the son of Buhl #1. Extra bonus fun: the original Mrs. Buhl was the daughter of Hiram Walker. Which means the family was probably rich enough to afford decent whiskey.

All this from a Bisquick book. Everything tells a story. Except for me! I’m behind on the day’s work. Later. New Quirk, new Comics, but alas no "24" update again - the book consumes all available moments tonight, and by the time I'm done I'll just want to collapse and watch. Thanks for the visit!