Off to work in the snow, thinking: this is not the wisest move I’ve made this year. In fact it’s probably the worst move I’ve made all year. But the year is young and I have made few moves. Let’s set a baseline for stupidity.

Driving in the blinding snow alongside other drivers who have no concept of momentum, inertia, or mortality? Check! Parking when a snow emergency may be declared at any minute? Check! Even though the snow was constant and thick, it wasn’t cold. I could make it to the fist skyway entrance without losing feeling in my ears. As is my style, he said with mocking self-deprecation intended to camouflage the fact that it is, indeed, his style, and isn’t really a style at all, I used an umbrella. This works best when there isn’t a wind, and there wasn’t much. But it was a cheap umbrella, the sort of thing you buy at a 7-11 in a big city when you’re caught short. The ribs are as strong as dried earthworms and the mechanical part that raises and lowers tends to fail in situations we call “normal use,” and the whole thing inverts if the wind comes up. But it’ll do.

Naught but three in the office. I did my work, had a lunch of industrially-pressed and blackened chicken from the Tyson Poultry Conglomerate, then went to work out. It had been five days, and I wondered if I had regressed. I had not. Watched Columbo on the treadmill. I saw them all when I was a kid and remember nothing, so it’s a joy to start from the top and work your way through. There’s a lot of 70s inadvertent documentary and anthopology, which we’ll discuss later in TV Tue and Peregrinations. (The latter debuts tomorrow.)

Stomped through drifts on unshoveled streets and vacant lots to get to the car; shaved off the snow. Driving home was bad. I was two cars behind a plow, which was good. But visibility was nil. I saw two cars stuck in the actual road, not the curbside area. That takes work and a particular lack of skill.

There are those moments when you have to brake, and the car continues to move forward, and all of a sudden you’re Yosemite Sam.

It was dismaying to see the plows had been by Jasperwood, because I had to punch the car through a hard drift and straighten up to get in the garage without sliding into the wall or hitting the bay frame. It’s not a matter of knowing when to brake, but knowing not to brake, and controlling the acceleration.

So, you’re saying, the most exciting thing to happen today was weather? Yes. It adds a level of difficulty that makes the day distinct.

It’s 1918.

Good news: the slaughter is drawing to a conclusion. Why, give it a month. Or eleven.

		This is interesting. Obscene and Improper? “Furnishes Bail and Leaves for Equador” - I guess the whole “flight risk” question didn’t come up.

Morrill was, ahem, a free-thinking fellw. He was the Pastor of Calvary Baptist Church, 2608 Blaisdell Av., where "some members of notable families McGarvey, Pillsbury and Harry “Wild” Jones (Church architect) belonged."

Quite a pile.

The Rev:

Last we met, he was opening up the Ark of the Covenant.

The book was “The Devil in Mexico.” After he returned from South America, he was indicted by a Grand Jury. The trial was postponed three times, and after the third he went to Hawaii. The paper noted dryly that he’d probably write a book about that. He did: “Hawaiian Heathen,” which looks to have a topless picture.

Dude’s asking for another trial.

As far as I can tell, the matter was dropped, and the books were returned in 1919 under the explanation that the “war-index” conditions no longer applied. The whole thing seems a mess.

He kept going, though:

Interesting chap. Died in 1928. Pre-recorded his own funeral oration so he could give the remarks, which I totally endorse. 

		From the plus ca change department.

I think he may have exaggerated the number, but what the hell:

“Turco-Teutons.” Interesting, that.

		Good news all around, it seems. What a time to be alive

		No clews. There would be nothing more about Mr. Perrin in the paper. The Clew Drowt continued and the story faded away.

Oh, 1918 is just going to be a barrel of fun.

Finally: Rah! Rah! Rah! The department store weighs in with some boosterism to show the government that they're completely and totally on board and not a discouraging word to be said, no sir.

The Patriotic Privilege of service. At least the era of strenous mandatory patriotism would ease off a bit in the next year, replaced by sonorous paens to peace and the new order that would be Hun-free and hence good for all. The Jazz Age would begin and put all this stuff in the mirror.

That'll do. Now we start with the Fifties' site Interior Design updates, leaving the ads for a while. Is this what the world looked like, or what they wanted it to look like? A little of both. 1950 was more 40s, of course, but by the time the decade was over the change in styles would be enormous. Hope you enjoy the site; it'll run until summer.