Random Bloviation
Perhaps it's just that I'm not around children much, but I don't see toy pianos anymore. These used to be something that every kid had. When I was little (two or three, maybe), I got a bright red, two-octave one. My mother and my uncle Billy both, in their frustrating way, could just sit down, goofing around, and start pounding out music on it by ear, which was a talent I never had. I inherited my intimidatingly polymath grandfather's skills with words and art, for all that I seldom do anything constructive with them anymore. Billy and Mother both got music and mathematics, which so often seem to go together. This resulted in some mutual jealousy: mom can pick up whatever weird instrument is lying about, and start playing it after a few minutes experimentation; I can do something similar with art supplies, and when availed of unfamiliar materials, generally produce something passable, if uninspired.
My piano was purchased from Mrs. Reeser's Fountain, which was this weird, wonderful-smelling place that had an elaborate marble ice cream counter and also sold toys and baby supplies. As a child, of course, I just accepted it as it was, although in retrospect I can see that it was a 30s/40s soda fountain that had tried to stay relevant during the baby boom, selling babykeeping paraphenalia to its young customers as they grew up and became obsessed with their own generation of offspring.
Its competitor, a block or so down the street, was The Palace of Sweets, generally known as just 'the Palace'. Unlike the Fountain, a small cozy space which sparkled with cut-glass, polished brass, and maroon leather, the Palace was an austere black and white place, with chequered marble flooring, a *long* counter down one wall, and these French-type wire tables and chairs, the kind where the tables have thin marble tops, and the chairs have heart-shaped backs. It also had an immensely high Victorian ceiling, covered in those pressed-tin panels that were so popular back then.
Before the War, the Palace had apparently been the superior attraction, packed with high school kids on basketball nights, although those days were long gone. "Stuff that happened at the Palace in My Day" was a topic on which all of the adults, old and young, could readily converse. The popularity of both had faded with the times; the automobile, the television, and the generalized abhorrence for anything 'old-fashioned' had all done their part. Where Mrs. Reeser's had tried, not entirely without success, to adapt to the times (and had always been, I think, more the 'family' place, where parents took their children), the Palace stood hard on its dignity and purity of purpose as a teen hangout, and slowly became dusty and shabby.
*****
Bwahahah!!1!!1!!! Number one, I know enough of how fast food employees are treated to find this hilarious. Number two, I can't help but see it advancing the cause of converting fast food over to robot employees.
*****
Heh. A rapper named "Kill to Survive" got shot 64 times in Chicago, which pretty much falls into Swiss cheese transformation territory. This happened right outside the jail, and the woman who threw his bail, as well as a "community activist" absorbed some bullets as well. The police, ever suspicious, are speculating that it may have been a "targetted hit", as opposed to just your normal Chicago background level of shooting. If you look at his picture, he's got a crosshairs tattoo on his throat. I'd love to know if anyone shot him there. I like to imagine the gunmen shooting in a kind of syncopated, rhythmic style, like a rappers' percussion line.
At this point, I think Chicago's pretty much a free-fire zone, which is a pity. That used to be a fun place to go of a weekend. ***** Original posted at https://rain-gryphon.dreamwidth.org/226678.html
My piano was purchased from Mrs. Reeser's Fountain, which was this weird, wonderful-smelling place that had an elaborate marble ice cream counter and also sold toys and baby supplies. As a child, of course, I just accepted it as it was, although in retrospect I can see that it was a 30s/40s soda fountain that had tried to stay relevant during the baby boom, selling babykeeping paraphenalia to its young customers as they grew up and became obsessed with their own generation of offspring.
Its competitor, a block or so down the street, was The Palace of Sweets, generally known as just 'the Palace'. Unlike the Fountain, a small cozy space which sparkled with cut-glass, polished brass, and maroon leather, the Palace was an austere black and white place, with chequered marble flooring, a *long* counter down one wall, and these French-type wire tables and chairs, the kind where the tables have thin marble tops, and the chairs have heart-shaped backs. It also had an immensely high Victorian ceiling, covered in those pressed-tin panels that were so popular back then.
Before the War, the Palace had apparently been the superior attraction, packed with high school kids on basketball nights, although those days were long gone. "Stuff that happened at the Palace in My Day" was a topic on which all of the adults, old and young, could readily converse. The popularity of both had faded with the times; the automobile, the television, and the generalized abhorrence for anything 'old-fashioned' had all done their part. Where Mrs. Reeser's had tried, not entirely without success, to adapt to the times (and had always been, I think, more the 'family' place, where parents took their children), the Palace stood hard on its dignity and purity of purpose as a teen hangout, and slowly became dusty and shabby.
*****
Bwahahah!!1!!1!!! Number one, I know enough of how fast food employees are treated to find this hilarious. Number two, I can't help but see it advancing the cause of converting fast food over to robot employees.
*****
Heh. A rapper named "Kill to Survive" got shot 64 times in Chicago, which pretty much falls into Swiss cheese transformation territory. This happened right outside the jail, and the woman who threw his bail, as well as a "community activist" absorbed some bullets as well. The police, ever suspicious, are speculating that it may have been a "targetted hit", as opposed to just your normal Chicago background level of shooting. If you look at his picture, he's got a crosshairs tattoo on his throat. I'd love to know if anyone shot him there. I like to imagine the gunmen shooting in a kind of syncopated, rhythmic style, like a rappers' percussion line.
At this point, I think Chicago's pretty much a free-fire zone, which is a pity. That used to be a fun place to go of a weekend. ***** Original posted at https://rain-gryphon.dreamwidth.org/226678.html