Coffee-maker doom loop. It needs to be descaled, which means pouring the diluted scouring fluid into the water tank, and running a few cycles. But it refuses to run a cycle because it needs to be descaled. This is like the dog who wants you to throw the ball but will not let it go. Sigh. Okay, Grok, what do I do.

The cheerful voice told me to hold down the 8 and 10 cup settings, which will make the BREW light flash rapidly. I am here to tell you that “rapidly” is not an objective term. It is flashing steadily, and I would’t call the pace languorous or unhurried, but “rapidly” to me is something that would indicate a heightened state, a sense of urgency. I followed the instructions and went upstairs to continue watching football and designing graphics for the fourth week of October. (2025, if you’re keeping track.) Baltimore lost yards on the play, and I uttered an oath.

“I know, right?” Said my phone. “That gunky-tasting coffee.”

“No, I was referring to the football game on now.”

“Oh! The Ravens are up 21-14 in the third, and-“

“No! Don’t tell me! I haven’t finished the half.”

“Sorry. I’ll stop now. Who do you want to win?”

“Baltimore, for the Poe reference and to bring Detroit down a peg.”

“Baltimore could use some love.”

I can see how this would be good for people living alone, really. Older people. Your dog listens, but can’t engage the same way.

Thundered much last night. Birch was not happy.

 

 

Drizzly dank start to the day, perfect fall weather. At noon the clouds moved on, and iit soon warmed up. I had a consultation with a gutter-cleaning guy who had a good bid: $0, since he couldn’t do it with the gutter-guard system I had. It’s ancient, not one of those patented things, just chicken wire nailed over the gutters. He did give me a good price on replacement, warning me that the Other Guys would be larger by a factor of three.

“And why would that be.”

Many reasonable reasons. We’ll see. It’s another piece of the Jasperwood Spiffication Project. Tomorrow, a consultation with a countertop person. It’s surprising how many things age out of style even when the style is nominally timeless, i.e., Arts and Crafts.

Ah: the descaling did not work. Next step: unplug the machine for ten minutes. Let’s try that.

LATER And that worked. Full carafe. Pour out, refill, run a cycle -

DESCALING WARNING

Oh come ON I just did that. Augh. Unplug. Try again.

In the meantime, let me tell you that I heard a cicada at 4:47 today. I am still keeping track. I never hear them in the woods. I wonder what sort of fauna lives there, and poses such fascination to the dog - although he was utterly indifferent in Omen Squirrel, who followed us along for a while.

 

Do they have special meaning?

Google’s lousy AI:

A white squirrel can symbolize good luck, spiritual purity, and transformative change, though its specific meaning can vary by culture and individual interpretation.

I assumed as much. Grok is much more detailed, and notes:

Seen as rare, enchanted beings in various traditions.

University of Texas legend: Seeing a white squirrel on test day brings good luck.

I suppose the two are not mutually exclusive. Okay, let’s check the coffee pot.

Nothing. Unplug. Let it think about this for a while. It’s a Keurig Duo, which makes a carafe or a single cup. It has a burner which surely reflects some recent regulation, because it does not keep the coffee warm. If it did, you might place your hand upon the burner and press down until the flesh bubbled, and then sue them. Maybe someone already did. I’d like to have a chat.

Just like I wanted to have a chat with a fellow at the gym today who was taking forever to finish on the one machine I had not yet done. In between sets, of course, he read. Everyone looks at their phone between sets. But in his case he was sitting rather casually on the machine, reading a book. I suppose I should cheer the old-style ways, but he looked engrossed in the text, and it seemed as if he was reading a chapter in between sets.

It is odd, when you think of - everyone staring at their phone . Imagine going a gym in the 50s and everyone is reading a Mickey Spillane or Penguin or pulp mag between sets. You’d marvel at how literate the tableau seemed.

But it's different with a book, isn't it? A room full of people reading has a different mood than a room full of people staring at the glass. The first seems like a silent dialogue. The latter seems like an exercise in auto-anesthetizing.

Okay, time to try the descaling again. If it doesn't work I may have to give up coffee tomorrow.

HA KIDDING I have two backup machines.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I continue to wear out your welcome with grainy grabs from threadbare kinesecopes, bit there's a reason. We are illuminating the tenuous threads between now and the great bygone Television Then. What's My Line, as I keep insisting, is a valuable resource, because it wasn't a dumb TV game show. It was aspirational middlebrow culture. I mean, the host was married to the daughter of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. But we'll have more on him some day.

Now and then, you come across someone who had a very long run. He was not a mystery guest.

 

 

I think they had to put on masks because it was possible they knew him, but he wasn't famous enough for Mystery Guest Status.

 

 

And then there's this cheerful fellow.

 

 

He was a mystery guest. Took the whole thing as a lark and had a very unserious time, which seemed to suit him right down to the ground.

 

 

 

It is 1915.

We are back in the exciting world of Notions.

I gather one can observe the spring with a cursory examination:

 

 

Target market’s changed a bit, I see:

 

 

The company goes back to 1680, as this history shows.

No more soiled balls:

 

 

Glass Headed Pins in Tubes (take the place of cubes)

There’s always stuff that looks like hobby-babble to outsiders.

It's 1915, as I noted. I have bad news for them.

"Do with me what you will. I shall be what you make me. You are the host; am merely a visitor, passing on my way, which is to be your way, too.

"I can be sunshine or cloud: gay or sad, rich or poor. Make much or little of me while I am with you, but remember that I come but once.

When I pass on, I am gone forever.”

 

 

What shall we do with this arriving guest, Mr. Business Man, Mr. Financier?

I don’t know, invest in arms?

 

Real hair, and best of all, it was shorn from the heads of your fellow human beings:

 

 

These journals survive only in black-and-white form, so we might be forgiven for thinking their world wasn't as colorful as ours. Well:

 

 

Imagine being a tough guy who thinks he’s king swagger, getting shanked by an embroidery stiletto.

 

 

Wonder how many ladies kept one close at hand, just in case.

 

So what you’re saying is that the product is called a Scotsman

 

 

All hand-lettered, and nicely so. Nick's Fonts could make a nice typeface out of that.

Looks like two ads, but they’re surrounded by a common border. Looks like it’s for DeGraff, who repped a long of products.

Dexter’s cotton and the comb non pareil:

 

 

The Stag comb! A man was once known by the type of comb he had, right? I’ve no idea. At some point it was all Ace, or nothing.

 

A rare example of what the package actually, you know, looks like

 

 

Fresh elastic, because that matters. It ages, it gets brittle, and it’s useless. So “made the same season” is important.

They needed expiration dates, really.

 

That will do for today, except of course for the updates (free as ever like all this stuff for now) and the latest chapter in the Joe Ohio story, over at the paid section of the Substack. Thank you for your patronage, as always.