A three-column day, and they are done. One was a review of a building, for the paper; the other was a piece about NFTs, for the national mag gig; the third was the newspaper column for Sunday. I dislike three-column days the most, but it does feel fine when you can bang -30_ at the end of the day and know you earned your keep on the right side of the dirt.
Ran some errands in the afternoon, which required coming up hard against the Cost of Living. Filled up the car, which is now a fortnightly event. Marveled agog at the price of eggs: are the chickens sitting on spun-silk cushions? Milk was up, but then again I was shopping at Lundsenbyerly’s, the upscale place. If you made a movie about the Twin Cities you could have a character say “well, you know, she buys her milk at Byerly’s,” and that would say everything about the speaker and the person she was describing. They had a great sale on hamburger, which happens every six weeks, and makes people come by weekly in hopes there will be a great sale on something.
Stopped at the local drug store, and marveled once again: it’s settled into a permanent Soviet groove. The shelves are 2/3rds stocked, and what’s there is usually represented by a single example of the product, maybe two. It’s not because there’s thievery. It’s just because . . . we’re out.
That seems to be the new paradigm: we’re out. What we have, costs more. On the other hand we have apps that let you accumulate points by weaving your phone at the thing that goes beep! And automatically transfers numbers from your place to their place.
Eh, not crazy about that deal. Perhaps this is a lesson to all those who looked at the abundance of the drug store shelves and scowled: why do we need 17 kinds of hand lotion? Because that means there will always be hand lotion. When there are only two kinds, one is always out, and the other is in short supply.
The Airplane Perry was a good one, and started off with a impressively large character: BIG STEVE, a corrupt union boss sprung from the pen to testify. That was not the main plot, and of course you don’t care what the plot was at all. It’s the faces.
You don’t know him? I wouldn’t have recognized him if it wasn’t for his voice, which is unmistakable.
Yes, it’s Parley Baer. Chester on Gunsmoke, among other roles.
This fellow, Peter Mamakos, had the most anguished confession I’ve ever seen in a Perry Mason. You know he had exceptional skill at making people spill their guts in a Grand Jury hearing where they weren’t even suspected, but man, did Mamakos sell his regret at hitting the guy too hard. Stage one:
Stage three: simultaneously screaming a confession and a defense.
It's one of the most emotional Perry Mason courtroom confessions.
But it’s this that made me sit up and think: is it? Could it be?
Something about the eyes, the movement of her head - which is odd, because the role I’m thinking about doesn’t involve much head movement at all. No, it's the eyes. And the mouth. And the nose.
This is, perhaps the most interesting of all the Star Trek Connections we’ve done over the years.
Yes, it’s her. Or him. Or it. I could tell you which character, but I think you'll have more fun figuring it out yourself. Note: you can solve it with googling. But why would you?
Bonus: Parley Baer’s last screen appearance:
White bread: it’ll chipmunkize your growing child!
He’s up and at ‘em and he helps mom - because of Bread! It was a Wonder, of course - ever-soft and perma-fresh.
The old Iron Fireman, automatically shoveling the coal so you can just sit on the sofa and enjoy life.
Well, it was true, although actual enjoyment may be different than depicted.
It’s an ad for shirts! No, for golf! No, for vacations! No, for . . . gas. Just gas.
Did anyone have brand loyalty then, or just take what was close, like now?
Here it is explained why no one said “Send us more Japs.” Turns out they had sufficient Japs.
We really lost something when the big glossy weeklies perished.
Yes, it has been a long time since your kid had a metal toy, because of the war. It’s been so long he outgrew these things.
The artist was Thomas King Hanna. His work is available today, and surprisingly affordable!
A more realistic account:
Speaking of more post-war boons: they’re making bikes again!
That seat . . I can feel it in my tailbone.
Here, have a plan, on us! Build it yourself.
Quick turn-around to civilian needs, as you can see. Everything was good and done and over.
Finally, at the Lyceum - long gone, replaced by Orchestra Hall:
In a career that spanned over seven decades, Guízar trained early as an opera singer and traveled to New York City in 1929 to record the songs of Agustín Lara.
In addition, Guízar performed both operatic and Mexican popular songs at Carnegie Hall, but he succeeded with his arrangements of popular Mexican and Spanish melodies such as Cielito Lindo, La Cucaracha (The Cockroach)
From opera to the cockroach song. Sigh. A long and successful career, though; died in Texas in 1999.
1946 looks better on paper than it probably seemed.