Man, check that illustration above. Another beauty from the book I scored that blew my gourd on Sunday. Charley Harper? Maybe.

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MILLIONS AND MILLIONS OF POLAROIDS: Polanoid.net. Get in there and dig around, then, cry a little cuz isn’t the whole “polaroid thing” kinda near death or something? I’ve heard some rumbling from loose-lipped colleagues. (This one was sent in by Jason Miller, of Minneapolis, Minn.)

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THIS JUST IN FROM THE LAST FRONTIER, FROM THE ONE AND ONLY JOHN CREWS:

“The days of old have slipped by, we are all just part of the corporate grind now. Trains go north and come south and in four days they will begin their annual summer migration to and fro. Me, I just try to keep the herd of them together, seems like the dastardly mites we call the staff keep picking at the trains, causing endless toil by those of us who love them. Gone are the days of walking into a kitchen and eating my fill of bacon or prime rib. The days of young creative pups skirting the rules and laughing at us behind our backs are no more. It all used to be a summer game of cat and mouse but alas, the cats have gotten too big and the mice are all very subdued now. I miss the likes of a hooligan like you Mr. Draplin, and every once in a while, I will pull out a story about how invincible you were in the pit. Your record of most consecutive days (26 I believe) still stands as a testament to a worker from a bygone era.”

Now, friends, that is putting things nicely. John went easy on us. All this, coming from a guy who, on my very first day on the train, in my starchy whites and cook pants, doing everything in my power to not jump ship, comes up to a group of lowly dishwashers and says, “Hey, what’s a guy with a 14-inch dick have for breakfast?” We all look at each other kinda puzzled and stunned, unable to eek out any words. “I had eggs,” he says.

From that day, I knew John Crews had the right stuff. A champion of the rail, and a good friend to all of us who had half a brain. Thanks man!

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A FOND MEMORY FROM MY DAY “ON THE RAIL”: I survived this one. 12 miles north of Cantwell. I remember being excited for the “dead car” possibilities. That’s where my head was, way up there on the tundra.

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A nice pile of old hand-held video games. Still have one of these, and it works perfectly. Awesome.

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More or less, a million examples of postal here, here and here. There goes the day.