Turns out there will be cake. A party at the end of the day when we close up the old newspaper shop with a ceremony, and by that I mean "noisemakers and sugar." We're probably the only paper in the last few years that wound up operations in its cluttered HQ and did so with glee. No shuffling off to the boneyard for us. We survived.

As I left the building on Thursday and drove past the front door, I thought: I outlived you. That I did not expect.

By now means am I one of the longer-serving employees, but I do go back a bit. I remember ever desk I had. You might wonder why one would need more than one desk - well. In the flush days we were constantly subjected to reorganizations, as one vogue after the other swept through the industry. I'd be tasked to one team, then another, then shoehorned into this managerial pod, moved over here for that then moved over here for something else. All told, six moves, the office reconfiguring itself each time. Desks moved, partitions built. The most ruinous change happened when a bright young thing blew into town to handle features, and didn't like me at all. Killed my column then ruined Features for a few years then skipped out la-de-dah to go screw up something else. Well, her work was undone and I got my column back.

The last desk was the best. In the library, by the window. I watched the annex go down and the new buildings go up. I'll be the last person to sit up in that space for a long, long time - a park replaces the building, and there'll be no third floor. Just wind and birds.

That is all the regret I can muster. Going to the new place will be like getting a new job, except I already know how to do it.

Sorry there's not much in the way of writing today, but I have two pieces due on Friday, and must type for coin. We're leaving the building but that doesn't mean there's not a paper to put out. There's always a paper to put out.



The final edition of " things found around the building as everyone emptied their drawers." This plaintive little fellow was sitting on a table, waiting to be taken home.

He wasn't there today. If the place burns down we'll know he was our spirit guide and protector.

I'm not saying the library has some "legacy" reference books, but:


Your interest is immediately piqued - gosh, these must be interesting in their own way!

They're not. Except to remind you how much of our current to-and-fros will be forgotten, just like most of the stuff in these books. Surely things were much more interesting than the books let on, but they're mostly about politicians and politics - the least interesting things to read about twenty years on. Or two.

Another look at that basement door. It's just too cool.

Too bad I don't know what's behind it.

That's what I'd say if I hadn't gone back today. Well:

Too bad I never found out the answer to that mysterious notation on the schematics, tunnel.

That's what I'd say if I hadn't gone back today. Well:

Dead end now. Dead end for decades. What did it connect to?

Back upstairs in the library, these binders. Nice to see there's 39 things between them.

Finally, something that amused me for years. A statement scrawled on the wall, with a typo. It's been there as long as I've been there - but today I noticed an addition.


It'll take its secrets with it. And so we go.






As usual for Friday, the Music Cues. Of course we begin with the Couple Next Door.

CND Cue #530 I call this one "spousal interjection with rejoinder"

CND Cue #531 This late in the game, a new one: music for thinking and puttering.

Moving along with the innumerable Gunsmoke cues. I swear every week I say "no more, there can't be any more, " and then they come up with new ones. It's nuts. They didn't have to.

Gunsmoke #69 I mean, this is 30 seconds. That's an ad.

Gunsmoke #70 Suite: "Sure As Shootin'"

The late-season Johnny Dollar cues, drawn from the library of big bad boss sounds:

YTJD #18 We must hear this once a week. But it's never enough.

YTJD #19 Bargain-basement Herrmann, then it goes into a happy manic stage.

And now, a word from our sponsor.

Why don't you live - Modern? Note the different musical flavor for each attribute. I love "cleaner."

From 1946, Champion Jack. Orphaned at two; sent to the New Orleans Home for Colored Waifs. Wikipedia: "He was not a sophisticated musician or singer, but he had a wry and clever way with words: "Mama, move your false teeth, papa wanna scratch your gums." He sometimes sang as if he had a cleft palate and even recorded under the name Harelip Jack Dupree."

I think this might be a metaphor.

As far as I know, that's the first time this song has ever been on the Internet.


That's it! Odd week, it seemed, but next week has some great stuff en route. See you Monday!



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