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(Sorry. I was not myself last night. But there was a Bleat. Just didn't adjust the redirect. There will always be a Bleat unless I am incapable.) A good day, starting with Numb, going to Japaleno, ending with Delusion. The full spectrum! Woke feeling okay, which was a relief after an evening of feeling like achey old junk. The nagging London Cough better, but once a week I feel cold, and schmozzled. Slept fitfully, dreaming that I’d signed up to three mailing lists to let me know about homes for sale, and I was besieged by one after the other, each more moldy and dank than the last, and I was only able to observe them by climbing up a tall pole and looking down. Woke feeling better, fortified myself with a full breakfast and decided that the day would go precisely as I pleased. To wit: Hash browns. Half a slab, crisp. One slice of bacon, crispy side of al dente. One egg omelette with smoked gouda. Half a slice of sourdough bread. Coffee. Additional coffee, followed by supplementary coffee. Work: 2026 site prep. Five motel pages, three restaurant pages, something else, clipping and resizing. Finish substack, which was low-key but stated up front it was sick-work, and finish NR column. File both. Walk dog. Creek trees culled.
Lunch, then the gym. Despite the previous day’s aches, nothing was a chore, and I pushed up some weights five pounds. Shopping, including a much-needed stop at CUfB to pour coins into the machine. Mostly pennies. The usual disappointment: all those shiny coins and it’s just $2.52. But now it’s quarter time. As I waited for the machine to tally everything, I saw a cup someone had left. There were three coins rejected by the machine. I stopped back after shopping and they were still there. Okay then.
One site explains the words:
That's a lot to load on a coin, so you can understand why they went to abbreviations. Roman coins did the same. I learned: Silver melt value at current prices about nine bucks. I might clean it up and take it to my guy. Yeah, I got a coin guy. Known him for years. He's the one who sold me all the money in Curious Lucre. Anyway, when I was done feeding the coins into the machine, it spat out a ticket I could take to customer service. Guess the payout! $24.99 "No!" I said. "No coins! That was the point of all this!" I would've given the clerk a penny, but of course I'd fed them all to the machine. -- Rest of the day was top-notch. Shepherd's Pie for supper (yes, with brown sauce. Tiptree, not HP, purloined from the Edinborough hotel buffet) then football and more work and running on the treadmill and general industriousness, concluding with warm merry connubial convo with S. for an hour. As I said above: numb, jalapeno, delusion. If it is indeed that. And so we put this day to bed and rise to invent another.
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It’s 1963. Light up and enjoy the swank panache of a colorescent sharkskin: I think we’re at peak Western Man, here.
Eagle Clothes of Rockefeller Center. Also Melbourne, and Santiago. Summons up a world of adventure, doesn’t it?
It seems like everyone’s parents had a bottle of this stuff, if only for making grasshopper pie or something. Or grasshopper drinks.
In many households, it was Junior’s First Stolen Sip.
“It does not smell like flowers. It does not smell like spice.”
I don’t know if this would be acceptable today, Seems to posit a particular definition of masculinity, and we can’t have that. Non pipe-smokers would experience harm. “Vigorous and pungent.” Don’t say they didn’t warn you.
That's a lot of Top Notes.
The name sounds odd, as if we’re talking about Gallic Masons.
Seems unlikely he’d be making them for gentlemen of the 18th.
Never heard of it.
He looks as if he’s considering you for membership in a secret society. The French Shriners, perhaps. No, you won’t do. He could tell the minute you walked in. With his right hand he gives the secret signal for you to be taken out back and garroted.
Searching for more information, I find confusion. Was there a restaurant, the Le Vieux Moulin de Cros, in Cros-De-Cagnes, run by Mr. Nestou? No. There was a Le Vieux Moulin de Nestou in Cros-De-Cagnes. The ad might not be completely honest.
Effective ad. The new style is creeping in: different typefaces and dingbats.
“Costs more” as an attribute and status signifier: brilliant! (No really)
There is a live dog inside that plaster body please please let it out
Good thing he can’t see the girls laughing behind his back:
“Loaf Life” was invented slang and I do not think it struck. No one wanted to be the guy in the red shirt, except some kid in England who thought that’s what mod rockers wore.
That'll do. Obligatory note that this is all free and I'd appreciate a paid Substack sub but I understand if that's not in the cards but the future is unclear and I am facing the swirling abyss, but who knows. Que sera!
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