The Flathead Lake Monster on a Bottle

The drink of the day: Flathead Lake Gourmet Soda. It’s been in the refrigerator a while, and I’ve forgotten where I bought it. But today was warm, and I needed something to drink.

The label claims it’s Montana’s Legendary Soda, and maybe it is, but I’m not up on Montana beverages. Smaller print says North American Beverage Company, Ocean City, NJ, “under license from Flathead Lake Monster Inc.” Note the label also says “Huckleberry.”

The ingredients include what every soda has, however, including carbonated water, high fructose corn syrup, critic acid and a few artificial favors and colors. As I understand it, “huckleberry” can refer to a number of different berries, none of which appear in this drink.

Still, not bad on a warm day. And I have another interesting bottle to put in the garage.

Collegiate R&R

May 4, 1983

It’s a little hard to believe I ever spent an afternoon and evening like this. I made a record of it, and if I think hard enough, I can remember what it must have been like. It was during that rarefied period after exams were over, but before the VU graduation ceremony.

I’m also happy to remember that at no time did anyone I was hanging out with during this period say, “Let’s go rent a video.” It wasn’t an option. We watched a bit of television, and listened to some records, but that was the extent of our electronic entertainment. I’d say we’re better men for it.

Late in the afternoon, Dan made an outrageously good chili-bean-Frito concoction, after he’d spent a few hours lacing up the boat we’ll use later this week (I had a small part in that). We had a fine dinner ’round the table in the Vomitorium [that’s what we collegiate wits called our dining room]. We consumed the tasty concoction, plus bread and the bottle of Egri Bikavér that I provided. Steve made the damnedest ice cream, milk and Italian liqueur drink, whose name I forget, but an apocryphal story says it was invented by a widow.

We played poker after dinner, mostly for laughs. At one point, Rich asserted that the next draw was “going to reveal my soul.” He drew a deuce. Much laughter. “No, it’s this one.” He drew another deuce. Even more laughter. He actually won the hand with his pair of twos.

As I was dealing Mexican Sweat, Rich picked up his cards, which you aren’t supposed to do, so I dealt him a new hand. He started to pick that up, and my hand dashed down to the table to prevent that, knocking over Rich’s ice cream drink. It went everywhere. Everyone howled with laughter, and that was the end of the game.

It was still light enough outside to play frisbee in the street in front of the house. I took the corner of Poston & 31st; Dan was in front of our driveway; Rich was down Long Avenue, in front of the house next to ours; and Steve was on my side of 31st across the street from Rich. We tossed a good many minutes. I got off some fine skips across 31st, aiming down and – thwack! – hitting near the yellow line and back up to Dan. Once, I nearly threw the disk into a cop car. The cop eyed us ne’er-do-wells for a moment and must have decided we posed no threat to public order.

At dusk we quit and came indoors. Dan inspired us to play Risk & it took hours. Eventually Dan was poised to conquer all from Asia and northern North America. I was bottled up in Africa, Rich had South America and part of North America, and Steve had Europe. On the last turn, I threw Dan out of half of Asia, but we were too tired to go on.

Animals in the Back Yard

A recent visitor to the back yard, captured in black & white. At least it didn’t show an interest in making a nest inside the garage, as one squirrel did a few years ago. That creature was discouraged from returning by closing up the hole it had clawed near the roof, as well as an application of cayenne-pepper solution to nearby surfaces.

We thought of using the cayenne solution to discourage the dog from digging holes in the back yard, but so far we’ve taken a simpler tack — dumping a cup of water on her when we catch her doing it. So far that seems to work.

Cooking With Gas

A summer-like day, as predicted, to kick off May. The grass is green, early-greening trees are budding, and a few insects are braving the cool evenings to do whatever it is that insects do.

The other day I went to a certain big box retailer at which I have an account, to pay the bill. The clerk, a woman about 10 years my senior, spent a while inputting the information on the payment, apologizing that the computer was running slow. It wasn’t that slow, and after about a minute it starting processing the payment.

“You’re golden now,” she said. “You’re cooking with gas.”

I can’t remember the last time I heard anyone say “cooking with gas.” I’m not sure I ever heard anyone say that, except on TV, and old TV at that.

Later I queried the rest of my family about it. No one had ever heard the phrase before. I can’t imagine it has much life left in it, and it’s quietly headed to that elephants’ graveyard where old idioms go.

The Dandelion Rush

Capital way to wrap up April — warm. Very warm. And with a bumper crop of dandelions in the back yard. I didn’t make it outside much, except to walk the dog, but I completely enjoyed the warm air.

Tomorrow’s supposed to be summer-like, so it could be that the last week in April is all the spring we’re going to get. There has to be a cool blast sometime in May — it’ll feel like March, except the trees will be green — and then a lot of heat, or at least what passes for heat here.

My Own 1968

Finally this week Mad Men got around to something I remember, namely the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. I don’t remember much about it, but I did think about it the next morning.

I also don’t know what conclusions I reached, but I was learning (without realizing it) that out in the wider world, it’s just one damn thing after another. Not much that happened in 1968 would lead to another conclusion.

I remember the assassination of Robert Kennedy better, because I got up early the next morning and turned on the TV. Regular programming was off the air — maybe I was expecting Captain Kangaroo — and some kind of bulletin was in its place.

The talk was about Kennedy’s death, and I was confused, since I was sure he’d died quite a long time before.

The Forgotten Cosmonaut

Got a packet in the mail recently telling me about the Vanderbilt 2013 Reunion and Fundraising Opportunity. Actually, those last three words aren’t in the title of the event, but they’re more than implied. One of the “class goals” is fundraising to the tune of $1,000,000 “with 32 percent class participation.”

I don’t think 32 percent is necessary. Between the right four or five alumni of my class, that much could be raised right away. But the school might have to name something after them.

Anyway, in an effort to drum up some nostalgia for the early ’80s, the invite includes the following verbage: Motorola debuts mobile phones; Who’s at Exit/In tonight?; Sally Ride is 1st woman in space; Meat sticks at Rand; Campus computer use up 100%; Housing lottery equals stress.

Some of those are self-explanatory, and others are enigmatic if you didn’t attend VU, such as “meat sticks at Rand,” which I will leave to the readers’ imagination. But I kick into copy editor mode at that business about Sally Ride, first American woman into space.

Is it too much to ask someone with a Vanderbilt education know who the first woman in space was? Valentina Tereshkova, forgotten again here in North America. But I expect she’s honored enough at home, even without the Soviet Union. Remarkably — I just checked — she’s still alive, and not even that old (76). I guess spacefaring in the early days was a young woman’s game.

Green Grass & High Dogs Forever

Finally it’s warm(ish) and more-or-less dry outside. Time for some action shots.

Lilly has a pink tennis ball. The dog wants it.

That hound has some strong hind legs, that’s for sure.

At last, the tennis ball is hers, and she runs off with it.

Tinkertoys Across the Decades

Tinkertoys, Lincoln Logs, and Legos – the big three among building toys, as far as my younger self was concerned. I thought about that recently when Ann latched on to the two tubes of Tinkertoys that we have around the house. At some point long after I quit using them, the tubes migrated from my mother’s house to mine, maybe in anticipation that one of my children would use them. Until the other day, no.

The tubes interest me now more than the toys themselves.

I think my grandparents bought that taller tube for my aunt in the late ’30s – it has her name on it (I saw her last month; maybe I should offer to return them, since isn’t 80 the beginning of second childhood?). In any case, it says Tinkertoy, the Wonder Builder, a product of The Toy Tinkers Inc., Evanston, Ill. I didn’t know Tinkertoys were from Evanston originally.

The design of the longer tube clearly carries a 1929 copyright, but the image, especially of the boy, harkens back somewhat further. Maybe the artist was middle-aged and recalling his boyhood.

My mother probably bought the shorter tube for me ca. 1970, though it’s possible my grandmother got it for me. Note that it doesn’t promise constructions as intricate as the earlier tube. It still has a retail price sticker on it: Winn’s, 77 cents. Winn’s was a dime store near our home in San Antonio that was there until the age of dime stores was over.

Surprisingly little is available on line about Tinkertoy history, at least on casual inspection – there are suspiciously many hits with verbage the same as other sites. Did the inventors of Tinkertoys really hire midgets to play with sets in department store windows in the early days of selling the toys? That’s a repeated story, and I’d like to think it’s true.

Tinkertoy Tower

Ann had taken a sudden, and previously unexpressed interest in tinkertoys.

It’s a Tinkertoy Tower of Babel. I don’t ever remember building such a thing.