We are supposed to get 5 inches of snow today.

I do not think we are going to get five inches of snow.

If we do, it will melt. I almost hope we do. One last preposterous episode of an inordinately snowy season. I was walking to my car today and stepped on a bank of sharp dirty ice, an expanse of filthy shards that would flense your shin if you fell wrong.

How can you live in such a place? you ask. Well, you just take care not to fall wrong.

So! How was your week? I'm putting this one in the WIN column, because I finished revising the book, wrote four pieces for pay, and bumped up the weights on two machines. I got in an elevator with six people for the first time since forever. Had at least one day at work with everyone around. Sent Natalie a link to the new Wes Anderson trailer with the word AAAAAHHHH and she replied AAAAHHHHH. Cooked several meals my wife liked. Discovered the identity of Monochromal Clothes Man. But that, perhaps, is fr the next time we meet.

Minor Detritus, none of which has to do with cars that are stunning or make our jaws drop.

I should point my star app on my phone around until I find a constellation called Minor Detritus.

  Pepsi has changed thier logo. They're dumping the red-shirt over a big-white-belly spilling-out-of-blue-pants circle. first change since 2009, I think. What's next?

Back to the classic, with some typeface changes.

This is better. Right? It does away with the deformation and restores order and flow.



It's too big.

Or is that just my erroneous opinion?

  I've always liked the 1962 logo. You can feel it. You can feel the ridges in one hand and the wet neck in the other.

The 70s logo. It's hard to have an opinion, since that's what I remember the most. It was part of the consistent commercial background of daily life.

  The Oughts. Generally and specifically awful. Extruded! Moist! Motion lines! Extreme!

This ad kept popping up in my twitter parade. It's a great way to make people turn around and get back in their car:

I think this is for people who don't have guests at all.

Or, as we called them, company. Company is coming over. I think that term's gone.


And now, the weekly dream-journal entry, illustrated by artificial intelligence.

I was at home, and was mowing the lawn around 10 PM. It needed to be done, and I’d borrowed the landscaper’s mower.

The house seemed to have the same front and back yard as our home in Fargo, but was immense - as I was leaving to take everyone to their debarkation station, I noted a group of police cadets having a graduation-day reunion in the back lawn. (I’m still not sure whether this was my house, or a relatives’)

At the station I decided to go back to the house to drop something off - a check, a piece of clothing, I don’t know. But I lost track of Natalie and her friend (exchange student, perhaps) and couldn’t find them on my phone. Every time I tried to use the phone, some strange interface came up. Eventually I ended up in lower Manhattan, and was taking pictures of some art painting on the side of a tunnel, when I found myself in a bohemian coffee-house, with old chairs and tables and sofas.

As I struggled with the camera interface to see if I could find daughter, a fellow sat down and started telling me that my computer didn’t have sufficient power to run his graphics program, and I asked if he thought I was trying to edit pictures on an Amiga. This seemed to shut him up.

I walked away, past Tony Roberts the Motivational Speaker, who was grinning broadly, then went outside to behold an amazingly ornate old office building, done in a pseudo Mayan style.

I had to take pictures of this, but first I had to find out where the girls were.

I went back into the big long coffee house - it had a stream going through it inside; that was the tunnel where I’d taken the picture - and sat down. I was joined by Demi Moore, who I knew from before, and she started complaining about the behavior of South American dictatorial class while straining eggs through a big contraption to make me some coffee.



Rejected pictures follow. The prompt was "amusement part in a residential neighborhood in the style of Norman Rockwell."

General Store Clerk with a handful of stamps in the style of Norman Rockwell:

Those hands!

I don't know why it kept coming up with the White House for a background.

Demi Moore, take two:

She's not as angry about South American dictators here.




Let's check in on the apartment we've followed since it was a hole in the ground.

Hey, you say, wasn't there another big project? The Firehouse project? Why yes.

A reminder of what was there before.

One more thing. Another image of the building you saw at the top, the Northstar East, formerly Pillsbury, formerly a bank. It's smaller than any of the projects above, but things like this give it a heft and simple beauty modern buildings decline to provide.

I love it when the fourth panel is just punishment.

Is he being led away to his execution? Probably. Solution is here.


This year's old newspaper feature: a "social no-no" single-panel illustration. Can you figure out what's wrong?

We have just no clues here at all, unless the faux pas is showing your deformed hand in public:

Speculate on the etiquette foh-paw in the comments; extract any story you wish. Answer on Monday.


Now two ways to chip in!

That'll do. Have a grand weekend, and we'll start it all up again on Monday.




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