Pope John Paul II is still dead.

I love this site. Actually, I love pretty much any place where one can see photos of a particular locality taken from the viewpoints of a variety of its residents. You get to see what the area is really like, beyond the limited range of the calendar photos, through the eyes of people who might never cross one another’s paths. The city dweller takes pictures of the hidden infrastructure of his city, while the mid-state barnstormer takes pictures of farmland from the air, while the guy on the shore takes pictures of oceanbound Lakes freighters loading their wares. That variety of perspective and community deep-digging is one of the reasons I like Flickr so much.

Of particular interest is today’s offering: a series of photos from the relatively affluent Kenwood neighborhood of Minneapolis. Most of these homes were built during an era where architectural individuality was part of showing off one’s wealth. Minneapolis/St Paul is one of those rare areas where wealth and culture combined for a brief time at the turn of the last century, and the results of that mix have not faded.

BTW, one of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s many St Paul residences is on the market. Can be yours for a mere $656,000.

Meanwhile, here’s what happens to soda when it gets left in the garage all winter:

Special correspondent Jean writes:

It’s springtime in DC…

A manhole cover flew into the air and struck a truck yesterday morning after an underground explosion at a busy Northwest Washington intersection, authorities said.

Two other covers came loose from their seats in the pavement after the 7:30 a.m. explosion that sent smoke billowing from at least four other manholes near 14th and Q streets, according to Alan Etter, a D.C. fire department spokesman. No injuries were reported.

Washington, DC, is the flying manhole cover capital of the world. Since 2001, portions of the sewer system have been collapsing, fires have broken out throughout the system, and manhole covers have been flying like frisbees. It’s been a comedy of errors as city utility departments all place the blame on one another: electrical works blames street works for nicking their wiring, while streets blames electrical for not mapping their cables. Meanwhile, everyone is blaming the sewer dept for its crumbling infrastructure.

All I know is, I want to see this happen during an inaugural parade.

On a related note, here’s what happened when a Chicago manhole cover blew off in 1937.

NASA has taken a “de-orbit only” position on the future of the Hubble telescope. Bastards. On the plus side, if you’re really good at re-entry calculations, and have a lot of mattresses to spread around your backyard, maybe you can snag yourself a mighty fine accessory for your nightly window-peeping.

I was distraught to pick up the newspaper from the driveway this morning and see an obituary for one of my favorite comedians, Mitch Hedberg. Heart attack. He was only 37. You may not know the name, but you’ve seen him at one time or another. He had a spaced-out delivery, like Stephen Wright on acapulco gold. He was so shy that he almost couldn’t face the audience. In his early years, he’d stare straight down at his feet while delivering his bit, his long hair dangling in his face as though to further hide from the crowd. You just wanted to run up onstage and give him a hug. In later years, he was able to finally look up and out among the seats, but he still wore darkly-tinted glasses, as though if he couldn’t see the audience well they couldn’t see too deeply into him.

He hailed from St Paul, MN, as was well known and loved on the local comedy circuit. He has a new album out, “All Together Now”. I’ll pick it up and put it alongside his previous album, “Strategic Grill Locations”. Comedians don’t make a lot of money doing the tour thing, and Mitch leaves behind a family way too soon. I’m sure they can use all the financial help they can get. Buy one of his CDs–even if you don’t always get the jokes–and remember that for every Bill Cosby and Rodney Dangerfield and George Carlin, there’s a Sam Kinison, a Lenny Bruce, a Chris Farley, and a Mitch Hedberg: guys who never made it beyond the initial promising arc of their career and left us with one less reason to laugh.

Last year, the St Paul Pioneer Press ran an interview with him (alas, unarchived) in which he discussed his troubles with drug abuse and how he’d finally kicked the nastier habits and was putting his life back together. Isn’t that a familiar story? Troubled entertainer straightens out only to die unexpectedly. I guess the moral of this story is, don’t clean up your act or you’re gonna die. Pass the acapulco gold.

As Pope John Paul II passes through what may well be the final hours of his long papacy, Vatican spokesman Joaquin Navarro-Valls has become a familiar face on TV. His determination to put the best spin on an obviously terrible situation has me calling him Rome’s version of Baghdad Bob: Vatican Vinnie.

Several weeks ago, when the pope was unable to breath properly and had to have an emergency tracheotomy, Vatican Vinnie talked as though it was no big deal. In fact, it probably didn’t even need to be done–they inserted a breathing tube almost for the hell of it. As if the pope were Michael Jackson in a Rococco Crap store: “I’ll take one of those, and one of those, and two of those…”

Yesterday, John Paul was given last rites, which actually had the effect of tearing the media away from poor Terri Schiavo’s death bed and putting them in full Pope Death Watch mode. That is a big deal. You know last rights: the Catholic ritual for the dying. “Oh, no, no, no,” Vatican Vinnie tells us. “Last rites aren’t just for the dying anymore. They give them all the time now. It’s really little more than a blessing for the sick.” (I’m paraphrasing there.) He practically waved his hand and went, “Last rites…feh.”

Um, Vinnie… The last time the pope got last rites was when he took two bullets and the Vatican officials were trying to remember which firewood pile was for the black smoke and which was for the white. Terri Schiavo was off her feeding tube for a week before she got last rites. Cop Rock didn’t even get last rites.

This morning, with news that the pope was running a high fever, was in septic shock, and had suffered cardiocirculatory collapse, Vinne tells us that John Paul is “lucid, fully conscious.” Most doctors will tell you that if your blood pressure is so low that your veins collapse, then the blood flow to your organs–including your brain–is very low and there is no way you are lucid.

If it weren’t for the fact that a person were clinging to life somewhere in the massive complex behind him, Vatican Vinnie’s optimistic-to-the-point-of-delusional pronouncements would be almost funny.

Pot leads to sarcastic comments!

A research experiment 30 years ago tried to prove the conventional wisdom that cannabis smokers are more mellow. Half of the study group smoked real pot; the other half smoked placebos.* The study showed what everyone who’s hung around a college dorm knows–pot smokers are generally less hostile and aggressive. (“Dude, don’t bogart that” vs “I’m gonna kill someone if I don’t have a fucking cigarette RIGHT NOW!“)

However, the study revealed one unexpected result:

“Marijuana produced a small but statistically significant increase in sarcastic communications.”

No! Pot smokers are sarcastic? Really?

*which begs the question: how do you make placebo pot? wouldn’t the subject notice that they weren’t getting buzzed and the jig would be, as they say, up?

I think I finally found the cremation urn I want. Too bad it’s so expensive. But it would go really well with a casket fitted with bookshelves, especially if you got your whole family to go in on the deal.

“We’ve been attacked by the intelligent, educated segment of the culture.”
–Pastor Ray Mummert, complaining about the teaching of evolution (and science in general) in Dover, PA, schools. Because we certainly don’t want our children being taught by the intelligent and educated. Best to keep ‘em ignerant and obedient.

(Via Wonkette via Independent Report. Jeez, people, talk about commenting on commentary.)

For contrast, this is what it looked like digging out our front steps last week.