Same place, same planes, same crickets. At least most of the same crickets. I assume a lot were eaten between last night and tonight. The Oak Island Water Feature is not ploshing, though; the pipe may have gone down the hole in the rock, or the intake is clogged. Better go check. In the dark. Without shoes. Chances of slipping? Quite good.

Okay, made it unscathed. The tank had drained. Wonder why. Oh, right, the historical leak. Well, it’s filling up now.

Busy day, full of unsatisfying things. Took Wife’s car to the auto body shop, walked home, reminded anew at how much I love this neighborhood. For the sights, not the easy proximity to the body shop, although that’s part of it. The shop has been there for almost a hundred years, I think; it’s under new ownership now, having passed from the widow who ran it after her husband died. There’s a picture of him on a mural on the side of the building. I asked the new owner if it was fading a bit, and he said no, that’s just how it’s supposed to look. If it does fade, we’ll repaint it. Have to represent Paul to the neighborhood.

And I said that’s why I come here.

Work, walk, haircut in the burbs because my local place can’t find enough stylists to be open on Wednesday. Walk back to get car, home, dinner, big shopping, then this: figuring out what I will say on the stage of the Fair tomorrow. I’ve done this dozens of times. I’m not even sure I’ll prepare a speech.

DANGER DANGER, confidence! Or just knowing how it goes? And not being bothered if it all bombs? All of the above. 11:30 tomorrow at the Strib Stage, if you’re in the neighborhood.

Oh, the things you find, poking through the newspaper archives. For example, here’s a strip in which Charlie Brown grows up. Good news: he has a wife and kids! Bad news: still a loser.

 

 

Gosh, you think, that guy had Schulz’ style down cold.

Well, he should’ve:

It’s actually a short-lived (63 weeks) sports-related strip Schulz did in 58 - 59. Dropped because Peanuts was finally taking off. (After eight years, it seems.)

Let’s go ahead to 1968. The Strib is running Andy Capp, except it calls it “Andy of England,” lest we be confused by the culture and language. On Saturdays it had a strip called The “In” Kids. It ran in 1967 and 1968, and then I believe there was a general uprising among the population that demanded it be cancelled and the artist’s office razed, the earth salted. This is what happens when the editors think “we’d better get something that appeals to the Younger Generation. How about a strip concerning “with-it, happening kids? Hey, syndicates, what do you have?

It’s just ghastly. I wonder if the artist was in high school. It looks like it. Not only is the art bad, but the writer doesn't seem to have a sure grasp on English idioms.

 

 

What is the deal with the Dad's eyes

The kids, by the way, are "008" on the left, don't know why. Then Ringo, because that's a real au courant reference in 1968. and then "Birchy," for obvious reasons.

   
  The strip got axed after two months in the Tribune, because they realized this was just embarrassing.

 

 

   

The cartoonist did not seem to understand humans, and how they speak, or use their hands

 

 

Mom turns sideways and sends everyone to room because they've had nice educational day and NOW GO REST

Spoiler: they all paint themselves to resemble different animals.

Here's another. Yes this is absolutely the way people speak

 

 

The dimensions of the youngest one seem to fluctuate.

 

 

Yes, that's how you hold someone back:

 

 

Wow, the In Kids are quaking in fear now because they hippified the car because COUNTRY HAS ART EXPLOSION

 

 

About the creator, no information seems to exist.

 

And now, this year's Above-the Fold Kul-chah Feature, or ATFKF.

Joyful Entry of the Duke of Anjou in Antwerp on 19 February 1582

 

Here's the new ruler: the distance disguises his pockmarks and curved spine. Unless that's his grey backside.

Hoist the ceremonial bushels of bounty!

Says the museum:

When Philip II is no longer recognized as the Low Countries’ sovereign, a new ruler is needed. François, Duke of Anjou, and the brother of the French king, is willing to take on this task. He is officially installed in Antwerp at the beginning of 1582. Here he is shown riding under a baldachin, approaching a triumphal arch erected in his honour. He solemnly promises to uphold all of the laws, however his regime is doomed to fail.

I was curious about why he was doomed. Wikipedia:

Anjou continued on to the Netherlands. In 1579 William the Silent had invited him to become hereditary sovereign of the United Provinces, and on 29 September 1580 the Dutch States General (with the exception of Zeeland and Holland) had signed the Treaty of Plessis-les-Tours with the Duke, who would assume the title "Protector of the Liberty of the Netherlands" and become the sovereign. He did not arrive until 10 February 1582, when William officially welcomed him in Flushing.

Got that? Nine days before the event in the painting.

Anjou himself, dissatisfied with his limited power, decided to take control of the Flemish cities of Antwerp, Bruges, Dunkirk, and Ostend by force.

He would personally lead the attack on Antwerp. To fool the citizens of Antwerp, Anjou proposed that he should make a "Joyous Entry" into the city, a grand ceremony in which he would be accompanied by his French troops.

On 18 January 1583, Anjou entered Antwerp, but the citizens had not been deceived. The city militia ambushed and destroyed Anjou's force in the French Fury. Anjou barely escaped with his life.

I suspect there were two Joyous Entries, and this is the first. The term, by the way, has its own Wikipedia entry, because of course it does.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yesterday we paid a visit to Arcadia, via their 1989 newspaper.

Today . . .

I expected more. I expected something. This is one of the sadder places we’ve visited in the five years this feature has been running.

A corner commercial structure that might have been a bank. It has three visible air conditioning units, so you might think it’s still in use.

But I don’t think so.

Across the street . . .

You see the outlines of an old building’s foundation . . .

. . and a tiny remainder that would spur an archeologist to dig.

 

Head up the street, past another vacant lot where something once stood, and there’s this,:

The old paving stones.

There was something next door, too.

The corner of this block:

You can tell what was here, right? A gas station. You can even see where the island was.

 

I don’t know what this used to be, but it goes without saying that it isn’t it anymore.

Next door, there's this - the shop windows bricked up, the roof collapsed.

 

In the next mostly-vacant block:

 

“Why yes, of course they do.”

A community hall, perhaps.

There’s a newer community hall, which seems odd, since there doesn’t seem to be much community left.

A stable?

If that’s what it was, it doesn’t seem . . . stable anymore, sorry, but how it’s survived blizzards and winds, I don’t know.

Next door:

Car’s been there a while.

Do you think it’s empty?

Or crammed with ancient junk?

On the edge of downtown, another two story building:

It would’ve broke the heart of the fellow who published that proud little Arcadia paper. There was so much more here, once.

What happened? Fire? Tornado?

Or just time?

 

 

   

 
   

That'll do! Motels await. See you at the Fair!

 

 

 
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