HEY WHAT NOWĪt first I thought "someone's using my art," and then I thought, no, sigh, Google misses nothing.
MISTER RETRO WEBSITE BLOCKED UPDATE
This is amusing, because I did a search for some terms to find a link to the artwork in the Museum update yesterday. Of course, they're now empty and blighted with broken windows in neighborhoods that have one or two houses on vacant blocks like molars in an old bum's mouth. You'll see more of these fellows next year in the History of Advertising section, and I actually found some of the buildings in the ad. I found them in a 20s trade magazine aimed at builders. The question is whether these are the guys named in the ad, the builder, and the architect. This was a popular style in the first decades of the 20th century. Let's see what I have in the Detritus Folder - stuff I set aside for some reason, but couldn't find a reason to post. Friday awaits, with its simple, ritualistic rewards: pizza, scotch, good popcorn, ice cream, and the knowledge of a good solid weekend breakfast on the other side of slumber. That aside, it was a good week with lots of productivity, and the Three Gripes I spoke about the other day have all subsided. Of course, you could say, when did they ever? I'm done with waiting for the old days to return. Monday I'm making a clean break and moving to a new cubicle in a deserted part of the office. For a long time I thought something was damaged, and then I thought it was broken, and now I think it was wrecked for good. Looks like January, if the cases come down.
MISTER RETRO WEBSITE BLOCKED TV
We stood by the darkend TV monitors in the abandoned news hub, discussing when people would be coming back to the office, even if they come back for “flexible” schedules. When I see a light on in a usually darkened office I go over and knock and introduce myself as the caretaker. A sign of unnormalcy: I was talking to one of the editors at the paper today, who made a rare appearance to do some office stuff. Good thing I have motels done through 2022. Signs of normalcy: got a card today for the next postcard show. I felt like I had wrapped a message around a carrier pigeon’s leg. I deposited a letter in the STAMPED MAIL basket. On the way back downstairs I passed the mailroom guy. He opened the Keurig, and stood silent for a minute, heart racing. Great situation for a last-man-on-earth story: For months I would open up the machine and find the pod I’d used two, three days before. Signs of life: today when I put in my pod, there was a pod from a different brand. The Keurig on my floor at the office is decommissioned, so I have to go upstairs to the editorial department’s kitchen.