Once more breach-wise today. Third show. The Friday show went well, I thought; had a lot of people, the sound system worked, and I had unexpected additions like some 80-year-old twin ladies. (Was tempted to say “Imagine the mathematical possibilities, Max” but wisely decided against it) and a guy who claimed he could imitate all sorts of guitar sounds with his mouth. Turned out he could do a tuneless mess of wah-wah noises. I had the choice between being cruel and being falsely enthusiastic, and chose “non-committal appreciation of his willingness to perform.)

It was hot, but there was shade. The bus took forever to arrive, but we all endured with good spirits. It was crowded, but everyone was in a bright mood. Ran into a guy who came around a corner fast and noted his shirt: SURPRISE! I’M DRUNK. The Fair is a haven for day-drinkers, like an airport bar; people are putting away the beer at 10 AM. They’re also walking around with buckets, literal buckets of cookies. I will be staying a bit longer on Monday to take some pictures and eat some things, and I do wish I just had a whole day with requirements to shoot video and explore, but the office beckons and I have to get a piece in.

It’s an odd feeling: went to the Fair three times this year and hardly saw any of it, but on the other hand, I always feel as if I saw it all. If I didn’t see it this year, I saw it last. Or will see it next.

What I don’t have is the end-of-summer feeling you get, but I suppose the comes later in the week when the duties of September loom and the end is nigh. Of the Fair, I mean. Summer goes way into September, technically!

Uh huh.

I was finally approved for the Facebook "Growing up in Fargo" page. Whew. Wondered if I'd make the cut. Someone crossposted something from the Old Minneapolis Facebook page, and I was hesitant to click, because the next thing you know Facebook has burrowed into your online life like that brainworm that crawls into Chekov's ear in "Wrath of Khan." But I did. Sigh: old pictures. An ordinary streetscape downtown, every store front occupied, sidewalks filled, old bygone logos atop a building - in neon! I knew that place. Absolutely did not appreciate it at the time; who does?

Scroll down . . . Oh god no not the earnest happy 1983 TV-station promotional spot

The clown probably wasn't necessary.

But it's remarkable how some of these things they'd not choose today - a policeman directing traffic, a shot of the highways, Ft. Snelling soldiers. Something as elitist as an ourdoor orchestra concert.

At first I thought this shot showed the reflection of the old Donaldson's tower, soon to fall.

But it doesn't make sense. It's not right. That's the IDS; I wouldn't reflect the Donaldson's like that. I reversed it -

. . . and now it makes sense if that's the Dayton's tower. But the windows are wrong. The reflection looks like Donaldson's.

I recognized this instantly but it's wrong. It makes you wonder about all the things you "know." Particularly the ones you know for certain.


Made some steaks on Sunday night, and they were much more resistent to mastication than usual. It wasn't because they weren't properly cooked - I've learned to do these particular petite sirloins just right. Start the grill, turn the knobs down to medium, wait for a while, three minutes per side, let them rest for a while then slather with ketchup. (Kidding.) Wife noted their thick quality as well, as if the cow had been fed nothing but used chewing gum.

Perhaps the quality of this particular pre-packaged product will be lower from now on, like the Depression Pizzas that cut back on their cheese and reduced the slices of pepperoni by three. She went on to discuss her trip to Southdale, and how it's just odd - best Lifetime Fitness for miles around, busy movie theater (relatively speaking,) prime location with big expensive highrises all around, and it's empty and the stores are second-rate and cheap. You know, the "boutiques" with the Windows95 font-pack signs and bare racks and one sad person sitting there waiting for someone to browse. It just slides and slides and there's nothing to do, and now it's full of kids who just seem to hang around even though there's no shops for them. No shoes, no GameStop, no record stores, no Spencer Gifts with salacious posters.

I said something I hate to hear myself saying, but it somehow went with the sad mall and the poor steak. Remember when things were better? I mean, just in general, all around, here and there, a bit better? Or are we just getting old?

I mean, gah. It's such a boomer thing to say. It's such a blinkered and narrow, crochety thing to say, and it's too broad. Southdale had a bad patch before, and frozen pizza around here in the 80s was Totinos - a limp horror - or Tombstone, which had a hard cracker crust and a smear of bad sauce, or Red Baron, which made small microwavable deep-dish things that only cauterized the top of your mouth and provided scant pizza pleasure.

So stop with that already.

And yet.


A complaint that goes back to the Greeks, I'm sure.








Last Monday of the month, and you know what that means.

Let’s see what’s going on with the worst villain and most lackluster henches in all of serial history, shall we?

Everyone aboard for the . . .

This is the first time we’ve seen Invisible Monster, so to speak, in the catch-up cards. I guess he's a beekeeper now:

He actually looks like an interesting villain here. But most of the time he walks around in a suit and acts disappointed with everyone.

When last we saw Lane and Carol, they were under assault from footage from another serial:

Upon learning that Carol and Lane escaped, again, the henches load up the truck with their special chemicals and vamoose before the cops show up - and that happens instantly, I should note.

Lane and Carol find them leaving, of course, instantly, and Lane gets SHOT IN THE FACE.

Meanwhile, the Invisible Monster is still concerned about the bank merger. Apparently this is meant literally: a train is coming in with lots of cash to go to the other bank. The IM has a brilliant plan:

Where does he get those wonderful toys

Lane has found the dump truck that was shooting at him, and returns it to the garage. Which of course is crawling with henches. Two-on-one hats-on - no, hats-and-caps-on fistfight!


Lane loses. They tie him up, and say “now we have him for good.” And they shoot him right in the head! No, of course not. One of the benches says “we’ll put him on the handcar full of explosives,” and that’s a much better way to assure he’s out of the picture.

Good thing Lane wrote the address of the interception on the floor in grease:

It's on Kanejct Street in the Polish district! No, it's Kane Junction.

Carol and the cops show up, and there’s a brief and inefficacious gun battle. The motorized handcar gets away; Carol volunteers to stop it. Which previous serial is this from? Was it a Batman?

Anyway, remember that Lane is on the motorized handcar.


On the other hand, the Invisible Monster, who was not invisible at all, has had his plans wrecked once again. Next week? I fear a clip show. Worse yet, I don’t.

Now two ways to chip in!

That'll do: off on another week of stuff, and I hope you enjoy it.




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