I rarely if ever use the word trigger, but Hurricane Milton got to me. I’ve spent some time in Tampa, St. Pete, and Sarasota. I like the area. It was painful to see the storm slam into that part of Florida. The only good thing about Milton in contrast to Helene is that it has gone out to sea. I hereby pledge to stop mocking Milton as a hurricane name. It may sound wimpy, but it packed a helluva punch.
The leadup to Milton’s landfall was full of online stupidity. On the right, there were the fantastical lies spread by the MAGA maggots. On the left, there were those who claimed Florida had it coming because of Ron (The Louse) DeSantis. Nobody deserves to be slammed by a hurricane. Nobody should sow fear either. The malakatude, it burns.
Robert Cray and Dennis Walker wrote this week’s theme song for Cray’s 1990 album of the same name, Midnight Stroll. Anything that makes me think of Double Indemnity is okay by me.
I didn’t know until I researched this post that there’s another tune of the same title from 1959:
I dig Doo-Wop. In fact, I revel in it.
Let’s take another stroll with a cover of a 1957 tune by my favorite Jersey boys:
It’s Patsy Cline’s turn to take a nocturnal walk:
We begin our second act with a piece by one of our finest sportswriters about the death of Pete Rose.
Pete Rose’s Boswell: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, the WaPo’s Tom Boswell is a great writer. His beat is sports, especially baseball. There’s nobody better to give Pete Rose an improper send-off.
I hated Pete Rose when he was an active player and not just because he played for the Giants then divisional rival Cincinnati Reds. I hated him because he was an asshole on and off the field. The sportswriters of his day loved him because they identified with a hustling player who maximized his limited abilities. But they turned on him when he was exposed as a degenerate gambler.
As the Pete Rose saga droned on, I realized who he reminds me of: Donald Trump. Rose too was a lying narcissist who only cared about himself. Now he’s fucked off and died.
For the details, get thee to The WaPo.
Rose spent five years with the Philadelphia Phillies, so I’ll let local heroes The Hooters play us out of this segment:
The Mad Men Lawnmower Episode At 15: I had a blast recapping Mad Men. It remains one of my favorite TV series. Mad Men maven Matt Zoller Seitz has written a swell remembrance of one of the show’s maddest episodes Guy Walks Into An Advertising Agency.
I can not top this line spoken by Christina Hendricks as Joan Harris, so I won’t try:
“That’s life. One minute you’re on top of the world, the next minute some secretary’s running you over with a lawn mower.”
Yeah you right, Joanie.
The last word of our second act goes to Sparks:
We begin our third act with our favorite stolen feature.
Separated At Birth: Is it just me or do these two Trumper villains look alike?
One could even call those mooks The Killer Bees. Apologies to the Houston Astros Killer B’s, Craig Biggio and Jeff Bagwell:
Biggio and Bagwell are both in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Pete Rose is not.
Your Weekly Oscar: I still have Hurricane Milton on my mind. Here’s OP with the Harold Arlen classic.
Have I told you lately how much I love Oscar Peterson?
The Best Of Letterman: And now for one of my favorite top ten lists. It’s even cooler than The Cease & Desist Top Ten List.
Coffin Nail Corner: I haven’t done this feature in ages but I’m writing about a Joan Crawford movie tomorrow. She should have had Sudden Fear of cigarettes but did not:
I wonder if Joan ever ran out of cigs and had the No Smokes Blues. Apparently, Sassy did:
Saturday GIF Horse: There was only one choice this week. I stole it from Vulture. I only steal from the best.
In a word: GRISLY.
Since I cannot top that, let’s close down this virtual honky tonk with some more music.
Saturday Closer: This has been a rather gloomy post, so let’s end on an positive note with the number that made me a Yes fan.
That’s all for this week. The last word goes to the core cast of Mad Men:
