I'm still trying to parse all the dynamics in this week's Bleat ban. I'm guessing that neither couple is married to each other; the man in the back is married to the woman on the left. The guy on the right is about four years into his first of three marriages. The last one will be the longest, but only because he dies before she does.

Question for the comments: what's the relationship between this ad and a famous heavy-metal band?

Another cold day - the rain came straight down this morning, and it was strange elongated rain that seemed one degree away from snow. Didn't happen. Perhaps an hour of sun, just when you needed it least - around seven PM or so. THANKS but not helpful. Another week of this, and then we're done. They say. That's what the models predict. All hail the models. Everyone heap baskets of fruit at the mouth of Vaal that his models may favor us.

Let me post some things that have been piling up in the Misc folder. First:

I'll just leave this here, and see if anyone can tell me why this is the creepiest place on the internet this week.

It's gone now. When this Google Street view picture was taken, it was under new, less invasive management. Still confused? Here. If nothing else, just look at the art that accompanies the story.

Two: a Kindle ad that made me roll my eyes. For all possible reasons.

"Self-insertion," as Wikipedia says, "is a literary device in which a fictional character who is the real author of a work of fiction appears as an idealized character within that fiction, either overtly or in disguise."

Three: I had to screengrab this news website, because it's possible that the people in control of the website think this is acceptible. Look at this janky cruft. It's the Washington Examiner, I think. I stopped clicking on links to the site because you can't scroll down without hitting something that takes you elsewhere, and even if you don't, it sends you to another page. It's like sending someone to your house with every newspaper who screams in your face when you try to read a story.

HEY I'D LOVE TO SHARE IT ON FACEBOOK BUT HOW CAN I DO THAT

 

 

Then there's some mustached M&M and SURE I'll click on that Soundcloud file and listen to something that is whatever it is for six minutes.

 

This is not what it seems. You might think it's another update on the Portland / Sexton tower. But no.

Well, yes, it is, but there's more.

 

 

See those barriers? They're marked KA for Kraus-Anderson, a local construction company that looked at its parking lot and said "hey, we're a construction company. We should build something here.

And so:

 

 

That's just part of the project - the whole block is being redeveloped, and that's excellent news. Residential, restaurants, the Obligatory Hotel. The other buildings are more interesting, but I'm not complaining.

Here's a baseline view from the other direction, with sacrificed trees. Expect exciting scenes of excavation in the future.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back to music cues for "The Little Things in Life," Peg Lynch's last continuously running sitcom. The cues run from substandard 60s cues to cringingly 70s.


     

Another meritricious "passage of time" cue.

     

As I've always said, bassoons are indications of husbandly buffudlement.

     

Devoted fans probably know what the plot is.

     

Because she used it a few times.

Remember how I said PL dropped all the previous fictional constructs, went by her own name and referenced where she lived? Here it is, again:

     

It's not a big town.

     

I mean, people could find it on a map. There weren't more than 20 houses, I swear.

 

Lum & Abner's 1935 Sponsor: Horlicks! Let's have MORE HORLICKS! There's just no end to the amount of Horlick stories they have.

 

     

It's just malted milk, for heavens sake

     

 

It saved the babies' lives. Malted milk.

 

 

 

This week's Bob & Ray sketch takes on, again, the grinding banality of . . .

     

One Fella's Family

     

 

"The Smell of Malt." What is Jack doing in the basement?

 

 

 

TV's lovable Arnie! That was a show about a guy yanked from the factory floor and rased into management. Lasted two seasons, I think.

   
 

 

This is . . . cringey, but I'm somewhat innoculated to the charms of Ruyonesque mobsters.

How many Ninas?

 

   

Thus concludes a cold week, with some things done and some things not done. I expect the same next week, with different things done and some of the same things undone, but new things undone as well.

Have to shake it up now and then, you know. Have a fine weekend!

 

 

 
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