A beautiful day. Sunny and warm. No gloves needed, no hat. Not that I ever wear a hat; ruins the hair. It’s why I have prosthetic earlobes. Lost them long ago. If they’d invented a wool cap that didn’t have the static-electricity issue or make your hair look stupid, I wouldn’t run down the street chasing my ears after a strong gust of wind, but no, they had to spend all their time going to the moon. I hate humanity. Please visit my tumblr about angry anime.

Sorry, don’t know where that came from. Too much internet. “What would you do if you gave up Twitter?” Daughter asked tonight, and I said “read websites about what people said on Twitter.” She asked why it mattered, and I said it was instructive: follow enough people from varied perspectives, and you get the sense of the cultural arguments coursing below the surface, and you’ll recognize them when they burst to the mainstream, like a fountain of sewage knocking a manhole cover thirty feet in the air. SORRY PERSONHOLE, we say personhole around here. And it’s pronounced per-sono-lae.

Sorry again. It’s been a day. I have a column to write, so I’m going to post something I wrote earlier when I should have been writing the column, and then give you an obscure cartoon no one has seen in 98 years, and then drag you through Detroit for the last time before making you nostalgic for an era when the chains were few and neon was abundant, and you had about three options for supper. Sound like a Bleat? Okay then.

If you will bear with me, this is the last I will say about this.

Have you watched the new Star Trek? No? Well, I finished the season. Let's meet the characters! Spoilers Galore!

Hi, I’m Michael Burnham. That’s a boy’s name! Says it all, doesn’t it? Anyway, I am the fierce moral center of this show because that’s what the show runner bible says, and I’ll be spending most of the episodes with my eyes wide, barely repressing anger or concern, looking up with my chin tilted slightly down.

I’m Lorca! I'm not a whalt, but I am the only one having fun here, the only one who seems to be capable of action without getting bitchy or confused. Unfortunately, I’m an insane evil man from the Mirror Universe. Thought I’d be the captain, didn’t you? Faked you out! I’m also dead now.

I’m Tilly, the Insert! I’m all gawky and geeky at first and stammering and insecure? You know? Right! Adorbs! But by the end I’m on a secret mission to the Klingon home world where I’m a bad ass but still charmingly Tilly! I’m the fans’ favorite character because you guys we are just sooo alike.

I’m Captain Grandma! Remember how you cried when I died in the pilot? No? Well, I’m back, and since I’m Michelle Yeoh I will be kicking round an enormous Klingon 3X my size, because I’m evil and also Michelle Yeoh. By the way you can tell I’m evil because I speak in a slinky fashion while smiling just a little.

I’m Stamets, the snippy scientist, and I’m GAAAAY! It doesn’t matter, of course; who cares? But it explains why I’m always so terse and sarcastic.

I’m Sarek, Spock’s father. Remember the amusing sense of condescension Mark Leonard brought to the role? Well, I walk through this show with the expression of someone who tried to pass a quiet fart but realizes it came out a bit wet.

I’m . . . that woman on the bridge. I get to cheer for something later.

I’m . . . that other person on the bridge who looks like someone put on a Tron helmet and it melted. They tell me I will have a story in the second season.

I am Saru, the only character to get out of this thing with any dignity. Now I’m the Captain! Now I’m not. Now I’m the Captain! Now I’m not. By the way, my species evolved as prey, so I’m super-super attuned to threats, and that’s why I’m on the bridge instead of down in science somewhere. So I can freak out before anyone else and make things worse than they probably are. That doesn’t happen, but it could.

Hi, we’re the writers! You’re going to see a lot in the first 14 episodes. It’s going to have a breakneck pace, and while we’d say “warp 9” there’s no a lot of warping. The Discovery can go through some new kind of space we invented and distance isn’t a problem anymore. We’re bringing back the Mirror Universe because it’s darker dark dark its dark, and also gives us the chance for more large, blue, dark interiors that make no sense for a spaceship - oh wait, someone wants to talk to you for a minute.

Hi, I’m the set designer, and I’d just like to say I’ve come up with the most underwhelming engine room you can imagine, brigs that have room for 200 people to stand around looking at the person in captivity, and a needlessly huge bridge about the size of a baseball diamond. Okay, back to the writers.

Thanks! Anyway, the plot is about war! With Klingons! I know, right? Well, there’s lots of talk about honor and Houses, and when we say talk we mean slow throat-full-of-phlegm Klingon speeches that chew up enormous amounts of both time and scenery. But there aren’t any big set-piece battles, except for the pilot. We thought about a new approach to space combat, just like we considered for a moment going all Battlestar Galactica and giving everything a slower, more intimate sense of the toll these events have taken, and how new relationships are arising in the force of toil and war, but then we had a big laugh and said “nah,” and went Warp 9 with the fun!

Except there isn’t any fun. Except for the fun we had thinking about the people who wouldn't like it. That was the best.

A tiny, tiny, small cartoon that ran in papers in the 1920s: Jinglets.

		You get the idea, right? How long can he keep this up?
		Why, it's Betty Boop in early form. Sort of. I think he chose a word and worked backwards.
		Now I'm sure he's working backwards. What does he mean by "fifty-fifty," though? That they will share everything, I suppose.
		He changed up the format if he had to; two sets of rhymes. Now. Knowing what you know about 20s slang . . . what does it mean?

Another entry in our long stroll down the humble ruins of Dexter Avenue.

Rather idiosyncratic building, with lots of personal touches. A real chimney, or a design affectation? It looks domestic.

Last call:

Original colored tiles above the stairs to to the second floor. The one on the left is different than the one on the right and it doesn’t seem to be a google-camera glitch.

The rest of the building below. The door seems to be throwing up its interior. Slow-motion self-demolition.

Rewind a few years back, when its last incarnation was a “party store.” Booze.

As of 2017 it's all gone.

“Social" Club. Eclectic old-world style:

There are still drapes upstairs. Does anyone live there? Do they blow through the open windows on a winter day?

Blocks, and blocks, and blocks of this.

NONE SHALL PASS

They still speak of the Tree Who Spoke Like Man, and kept the cars from coming or going

GET BACK UP! The President and CEO of this tidy med-century structure is Dr. Billy Taylor.

If you don't know the name, it's this fellow:

Born in Hoxie, Arkansas, Dr. Taylor is the youngest of seven children: three brothers and three sisters. He spent his early years in Memphis, until his father's death in 1954; Billy was five years old. His mother, Mariah Marie Taylor, moved the family to Barberton, Ohio, where Billy spent the rest of his childhood excelling in sports and in the classroom. The two big football power houses, Ohio State and Michigan, competed for his talent during his senior year. His decision to attend the University of Michigan set the stage for his future academic and athletic achievements. Taylor is still a University of Michigan Legend:

Billy Taylor's life drastically changed when his mother died suddenly on January 4, 1971, only three days after his final game as a Wolverine playing Stanford in the Rose Bowl. In the next 6 months, his favorite uncle murdered his aunt and then took his own life. His girlfriend Valerie was stabbed to death in Detroit. His NFL career was limited by a series of knee injuries. These events started a long downward spiral of depression, drinking, drugs and encounters with the law. Although he completed a Master's Degree in Education, secured a job with General Motors, married and had three children, his slide into alcoholism put him on the streets and led to his divorce.

But he got back up,

Little bit of this; little bit of that. The augur foretells the future.

Finally:

Not a soul to be found, not a thing to buy - but those corners are ADA compliant.

Well, there you have it! Except there's MORE! THREE entirely NEW postcards of OLD RESTAURANTS! I know, I know - who saw that coming on a Thursday.