Monday again, but consider this: just three days until Friday! Today's already in progress, so you got your Tuesday, your Wednesday, your Thursday, and ka-boom, Friday dawns.

As I've said before, I like Mondays. The iron rules snap into place. It's even better if there are deadlines and the work's already done. Not saying one should stroll Mr. Dithers' office at 9 AM and lay the Johnson contract on his desk. If it's due at 5, turn it in at 4. Then lollygag at the desk until the whistle blows, and head out with the rest to punch your card at the time clock.

If it's 1928. It's 1928 above, in an empty gym. Don't worry - this week's AI banner art is not indicative of a personal mood, just the state of things. I like this one. It could mean many things, and it's all the more interesting for being created with no intentional meaning at all.

You're wondering if all the weekend's gustatory boons and delights unfolded in the usual order, and I am happy to report that everything was good and the ice cream was not crystalized. The nadir hours of the weekend afternoons - the worst time of the week, for me. Time to do all the things I should do, intend to do, but suddenly have no interest in doing. We'll tackle that box in the storage room next week. Or month. Or year.

I vacuum, and go into Natalie's room, and there are her things around, of course - mostly high school, some later additions, but things like the little Pikachu she carried around for a long time, a happy blob of fabric, now sitting in a shelf on the wall. It's a miracle it was never lost. I can't tell you how much time I spent trying to find an exact replacement in case it was lost, but it was a one-time Target product. We never had to face the day when Pikachu couldn't be found. There he sits, now, year after year.

There's something to be said for staying in one place but there's something to be said for moving around a lot, too.

The weekend’s greatest challenge was trimming Birch’s nails. It did not go well. Usually we take him to Petco, where they are used to irritable dogs who remember that one quick-cut from four years ago and aren’t going to put up with this from everyone, but they’re remodeling. So let’s try it ourselves, again - and immobilize him with a Frosty Paws, his favorite treat.

He was wary, since he usually gets one after a bath, but we weren’t upstairs, so that indignity wasn’t going to happen. Okay then! What, you want me to sit, here, on my soft downstairs family-room bed? Sure! Open it up! Oh boy oh boy! HEY WAIT

Wife tried to snip, holding his paw while he lapped at the frozen treat. But the first time she got a good portion, he realized what was going on, and his enthusiasm for the Frosty Paws was replaced by doubt and distrust. He lapped at it slowly, regarding me with disappointment and something close to contempt.

It didn’t work - she snipped, he snapped, and that was that. I put the Frosty Paws away, with only a fourth consumed. This had never happened before in the history of Frosty Paws. They never went away while there was still some to be had. Wife’s telling him that’s what you get and other scolding notes that of course are internalized and considered by the dog brain on the spot.

Everyone forgave everyone eventually.

Our new Monday feature! The Gazettes provide a look at the commercial vernacular from 90 years ago. Sometimes they look forward, and just as often as not they reach back decades for a familiar look.

Are any of these brands still around? We'll find out.

We do know they were charged a $24 fine for mislabeling in 1936. The home office is now renovated event space.

Three brands still alive so far this year, four dead. As for the event space, well . . . here's the website. Or rather, there it isn't.



You know what you're in for:

Kubrick’s breakthrough movie. You can find much more interesting and informed commentary elsewhere. As you know, we’re just here for the images and perhaps a bit of inadvertent documentary.

Every frame's worth a snap.

It’s one of Cook’s best roles:

He’s the same tremulous wide-eyed man who knows he’s about to get a beating, but thinks he might simp his way out of it - but he has a gentle, pathetic quality.

Old LA; I don’t know where.

A couple details that might bring you amusement.

There’s a long sequence that leads up to the heist, and the composer swipes Holst’s “Mars” beat. But that’s not what made me laugh. I’d seen the composer’s name in the credits, and thought: oh ho, this is ten years before he did the work for which he’s most known. Wonder what he was doing then? Wonder if he had a different style, or was working out the distinctive tonalities that would make his TV work so memorable? Of course, maybe it’s memorable because I’ve heard it so many, many times, but surely there was something more in his quiver.

  LOL, as they say.

I mean, it’s the same damned Star Trek drama-music tonalities. It really doesn’t work with the movie.

The second concerns a fellow who’s supposed to start a diversionary fight. The way it’s shot, the way he behaves - well, remember, it’s 1956, and a certain thing is very big on TV. Tell me what comes to mind for you:

Yes: it's professional wrestling.

Okay, three details. There’s a guy listed in the credits as “onlooker.” I figured it was during the fight scene.


See him?

No respect. No respect at all.

Okay, one more thing. One of the crooks in the heist wears a mask:

It’s an homage to that Batman vs. Joker movie!

Anyway. Damned good flick.



Oh . . . one more thing.

Have fun? Great! Still getting reports of comments outages. I'm seeing them. I've done all I can. I am considering alternatives.

Anyway, Monday! Here we go again. More of the same, and everything's different.




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