“Stand when I speak to you, earthman.”

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There’s all kinds of interesting things at this blog, which I chanced across the other day, but which also seems to have been discontinued. I think I understand why. It looks like a lot of work: all the scanning, caption writing, linking and publishing.

I’ve only skimmed it, but I like the tone of the site. Not: look at all this junk from the past we can feel superior to, for moral or aesthetic reasons. And not: look at all this cool stuff that reminds me of my childhood, when the world was a better place. But rather, look at all this! The world’s got an inexhaustible supply of interesting things, for endless reasons. Enjoy!

I found it because I was trying to learn more about the cartoonist Charles Rodrigues. I have the paperback book Spitting on the Sheriff and Other Diversions (1966). I picked it up at my mother’s house at some point, where it had been kicking around for years. “the in crowd” has scanned a number of them here, some of the better ones in fact. One of my favorites is, “Stand when I speak to you, earthman.”

The Bleak Mid-February

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Yesterday was almost warm, but winds and a dusting of snow blew through overnight and brought back standard February bleak.

The only colorful back-yard bits are man-made: plastic planters kicking around, empty of plants and void of use. For now. It’s a little hard to believe, but in four months or so, the back yard will look like this.

The Presidents Day Blackout

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At 5:10 p.m. the electricity flickered, went out, returned for a few seconds, then went out for about 50 more minutes.

Time to be dramatic: Blackout! NW Suburbs Without Power! Family of four plunged into uncertainty of powerless, dimly lit Monday evening! Forced to eat dinner and play a board game by candlelight!

But it wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t that cold today, so the house didn’t even lose that much heat. There was no obvious reason for it — no windstorm or ice buildup on power lines. Just one of those things.

Only three of us were here, since Lilly was visiting a friend at the time. I checked the block and everyone else’s power was gone as well, though the lights outside the school behind our back yard were still glowing. Lilly reported later that Twitter had informed her that some undetermined local area was dark — her friends were tweeting about it, I guess, but it couldn’t have been too large an area, since her friend (about a half mile from us) didn’t lose power.

Our TV and Internet were gone, but how can that be a bad thing for a few minutes, especially that fine silence where the TV used to drone? We discovered that our camping lantern, which contains four D batteries, has actually been a container for dead batteries for a while now. But we have about a half-dozen candles, and so ate our Japanese curry-rice by their light. Good thing the rice had cooked by the time the juice went off, though we could have boiled pasta and had curry-pasta.

Ann wanted to play a game: Sorry! As we prepared the table to set it up, the power came on again. I told her we could still play, and she still wanted to play by candlelight, so we did, though her mother was watching TV in the same room, so it wasn’t quite the throwback experience it might have been. Her yellow men edged our a victory over my green ones, four home to three home.

“Chicago Totem”

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We’ve entered the late-winter doldrums. What, cold again? Dramatic winter events are still possible, but mostly it’s just one gnawing cold day after another.

Something else I spotted downtown last week: “Chicago Totem,” a 15-foot bronze near the 400 E. Randolph by Abbott Pattison.

Just when you think you’ve seen all the large chunks of sculpture downtown, there’s more.  Apparently two works used to stand at this site, the other being “Pavane to Chicago,” which is now on the DePaul University campus. A Guide to Chicago’s Public Art (Ira J Bach and Mary Lackritz Gray) notes that “in making his ‘Chicago Totem,’ sculptor Abbott Pattison wanted to represent his native city with a totem that like Chicago is ‘soaring, living, writhing with animal force.’ ” Uh-huh.

Lakeshore East Park

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I attended an event recently at the Swissôtel Chicago, which is downtown east of Michigan Ave. When it was over, instead of emerging from the front of the hotel on Wacker Dr., I exited at by a back door, planning to walk to Union Station. It had been a long time since I’d walked through the East Loop. So long, in fact, that I’d never seen this park.

Lakeshore East Park, the centerpiece of a mixed-use redevelopment called Lakeshore East — note the residential properties ringing the park. I reported on its beginnings about 10 years ago, but hadn’t thought much about it since my old magazine, Real Estate Chicago, went under. The developers managed to finish a lot of Lakeshore East before commercial development mostly ground to a halt in 2008, but not all of the proposed buildings. The six-acre park park opened in 2005. Needs a snappier name, I think.

Supposedly it’s the only Chicago park with a free wireless signal, but I didn’t test that. February’s about the worst time to linger in a park. No one else was around, either. Bet the place will be busier as it greens up.

This fountain ought to be running by then, too.

This tray of rocks is one of several along a sidewalk running through the park. I expect water will return when it’s warm enough not to freeze.

Keep it to Yourself, Passengers

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I don’t ride in Chicago cabs that often, but recently I did. And I happened to have my camera handy.

I  noticed a charge I’d never seen before. That’s because it’s only been possible for cabbies to levy a vomit clean-up fee since July 1 of last year. There’s a long, gross history of drunks in cabs behind that fee, I figure. Wonder if anyone’s actually been able to collect $50 from someone drunk enough to throw up in a cab.

Disraeli & Gladstone with a Spot of Jam

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The product-package jokers who brought us Avocado’s Number Guacamole have created British muffins. Actually, that isn’t even a joke, just a cute name for English muffins offered at Trader Joe’s, of course. I bought a package the other day and confirmed that they’re exactly the same as what we North Americans call English muffins.

I wonder what ideas they rejected. UK muffins? Albion muffins? Anglia muffins? Or, pushing things back a little, (Anglo-)Saxon muffins? Considering that the ultimate owners of Trader Joe’s are shadowy German billionaires, maybe Perfidious Albion muffins.

Anyway, the name isn’t the really odd thing. The package also features images of Disraeli and Gladstone. It doesn’t claim any connection between the famed prime ministers and the product; they’re just there for decoration. I would have gone with Palmerston and Peel, just to be alliterative.

Maybe they figured that Disraeli and Gladstone were better known than any other 19th-century PMs, but are they really? How many American muffin buyers are going to recognize them? What gives, Trader Joe’s packaging whizzes?

Give Me That Old-Time Papacy

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Miserable cold, windy day, the kind of day that has you chase your trash cans down the street early in the morning, after crossing parts of your driveway that threaten to slip you up. While groggy, because recent days have been such an intense combination of rain, snow, and meltage that your trusty sump pump works very hard to remove water from the lower reaches of your house — and decides to noisily kick in just after midnight. Keeping you (me) awake long past the point at which you (I) wanted to be awake.

But at least I heard about an historic event today, something that hasn’t happened in almost 600 years; rarer than a Transit of Venus, though the resignation of a pope could be more common if the popes wanted it to be. Naturally, that sent me to reference works to look up the likes of Gregory XII, the last pontiff to voluntarily kick off the shoes of the fisherman. That was during the Great Schism, something you don’t hear much about in the news (it’s old news, after all).

The fine Historical Atlas of the World (Barnes & Noble Everyday Handbooks, 1970) has a map called the Great Schism 1378-1417 on half a page, and it’s instructive in the way maps can be. Some areas are purple: “Adherents to the pope in Rome,” such as England, all the Scandinavian kingdoms, Hungary, Poland, and the Italian states. In green, “Adherents of the pope in Avignon,” including Castile, Aragon, France, Scotland, and the Kingdom of Naples. The sprawling, non-centralized Holy Roman Empire is in gold, listed as a region of “Undecided Allegiance.” No surprise there, but Portugal is also undecided. I don’t remember the reason for that, but maybe they were trying to annoy their fellow Iberians in Castile and Aragon.

So who’s to be the next pope? Does Benedict XVI want to be alive to influence the choice? Perhaps to push for a “nephew” for the job? No, papal intrigue isn’t quite what it used to be. What about the next papal name? I still think Sixtus the Sixth would be a good choice.

The Presiding Bishop

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I looked at the back of this card the other day, since it was a February item, and I discovered it’s been five years since I saw the Most Rev. Katharine Jefferts Schori in person. Just another tempus fugit moment.

The back of the card says: Commemorating the visit of the Most Reverend Katharine Jefferts Schori, Presiding Bishop of The Episcopal Church, to St. Nichols Episcopal Church, Elk Grove Village, Illinois, February 3, 2008.

On an ordinary Sunday in the dead of winter, it’s hard to get out of the house, but how often do you get to see a presiding bishop? Not often, I figured. Lilly and I went.

She’s still in office, which has a curious nine-year term, though there’s probably an arcane reason for it. I’ve always thought the title didn’t have much zing to it, not like those some other Anglican primates get. Just to the north, for example, is the “Primate of Canada,” which used to be “Primate of All Canada,” which is cooler still. Even “Prime Bishop” would be better.

The No Name Storm

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Heavy snow this evening, but it didn’t rise to the level of blizzard. For one thing, there was practically no wind. First rain, than big snow flakes fell almost straight down. Nothing like the promised blizzard in the Northeast, which the Weather Channel is trying to name after a fictional submarine captain or a spunky animated clown fish.

Name winter storms? No, if it’s a real corker, the likes of the “Great Blizzard of 1888” or the “Armistice Day Blizzard,” or the “Blizzard of 1978” will do. Trying to name a winter storm like a hurricane is just the Weather Channel drifting a little more toward infotainment. I’m with the National Weather Service on that score: no names for winter storms.

And speaking of which: no to the new cat Monopoly token. There’s a dog token, of course, but dogs are loyal creatures who will follow you around the board. Cats will lounge around Free Parking all day, waiting to be fed. I’m old enough to remember to man-on-horseback and cannon tokens, which shouldn’t have been retired either. When it comes to weather nomenclature and Monopoly, I’m a mossbacked reactionary.