Valentine's Day went well for this little pop-up stand in the rival building lobby, the 333. Things are comin' back! Well, no. That's not an espresso shop anymore. They closed during the lockdown, then reopened, then gave up the ghost. What surprised me were the old Burma-Shave banners from the skyway, on the left. a bit of the past, hanging like remnants in a museum of the Previous Times. Schoolchildren file past the diorama, bored.

Since it was Tuesday, and there was a huge meeting, the office was buzzing. This meant the food people unpacked the stuff sent in by companies new and old hoping to get a mention.


While beer does indeed pair well with chili, this would seem to deny the beer its power to assert its own true nature. Your drink would not be a respite from the chili, but more of the same.

There were also lots of nuts, spices, candies, and more weed seltzer. It's legal now! Here, newspaper writers: get stoned! Maybe you could write a review about how the seltzer got you high?

We all adapted to that world rather quickly, no? Everyone did. Here's the ad PopTarts are running on Reddit:

Is the consumer snowboarding? I guess so. He's high! But not in the nudge-nudge-wink-wink sense. People have gotten incredibly stoned and eaten a PopTart, ergo, buy some, I guess. Due to the discriminating palate of the munchie-seized guy who eats it raw because he doesn't feel like cooking.

It's interesting to see brands move into this space, and adapt to skirting the reality of people sitting around doing little with heavy-lidded eyes. They have to make it fun! Alcohol companies don't show people drinking, because that might send the wrong message, But no such self-restraint in this case:

That's right: get stoned and drunk at the same time! It's good clean holiday fun.

People who drink are interesting, at first, for a while. People who are stoned are boring right away.

I'd try the stuff, but there's a good scotch in the cupboard that will not give me anxiety or tachycardia, so I think I'll stay with the tried and true. I remember what this stuff does. Thick-fingered uselessness. Your mileage may vary.

Okay, one more thing on THE COLOR. I noticed online yesterday. A meeting of "Satanists" in the Idaho capitol:

Then I noticed something on the kitchen table

Pray for me





It’s 1936.

Maybe this isn’t a non-partisan paper?

You know, I would have made the headline below the main draw, over "Lower electric rates." But it wasn’t that kind of paper.


Oh, I imagine there was a provocation.



New Post Office!

This page says it was built in 1935.

It's so dull I'm not even bothering to link to a picture. It could not be less interesting.



I think we have a new definition of the possible granularity of the local news column.

Let's all laugh at Jim, walking around town in pants he couldn't buy outright, but had to buy on time! Ha ha Brophy, you're poor



The Serial. The author:

Dornford Yates was the pseudonym of the English novelist Cecil William Mercer (7 August 1885 – 5 March 1960), whose novels and short stories, some humorous (the Berry books), some thrillers (the Chandos books), were best-sellers during the Interwar Period.


The entry also says: “The 1973 novel Indecent Exposure by Tom Sharpe plays up the 'Englishman' that Dornford Yates created in his novels. There is a group of characters in the satirical novel who style themselves as the 'Dornford Yates' club and who try to emulate the 'Master' in avoiding reality and a changing world.”

I’d forgotten about Sharpe. He was quite the withering fellow. I remember finding him funny and learned but oddly vulgar in a way that dragged down one's estimation.




Was there a Joe Frisco? Why yes.

Joe Frisco (born Louis Wilson Joseph; November 4, 1889 – February 18, 1958) was an American vaudevilleperformer who first made his name on stage as a jazz dancer, but later incorporated his stuttering voice to his act and became a popular comedian.


Another indication of his fame:

Frisco was so well known for his jazz dance that writer F. Scott Fitzgerald makes reference to him in his 1925 novel The Great Gatsby when he describes how an actress at one of Gatsby's parties starts the revelry: "Suddenly one of the gypsies, in trembling opal, seizes a cocktail out of the air, dumps it down for courage and, moving her hands like Frisco, dances out alone on the canvas platform."

That ensures he'll be remembered longer than Sharpe.

This interested me: a newspaper clipping that called him "The American Apache."

There's a reference that's lost its currency. Does it refer to the Apache dance, which was considered French and hence the distinction?


Some advice from the famous humorist. It turns out that the rooming-house-cabbage-odor was actually a thing.


Finally, the ad that tells everyone to shop locally:

Behold the sad, lonely fate of the dollar so far from home.

Now two ways to chip in!

That should do! Fifties interiors await.



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