MR WRONG: Pony up
Indignity Vol. 5, No. 137
COLUMN DEP’T.
MR WRONG: My Horse Came Through and So Did My Column
THE MR. WRONG column is on vacation, again. I was on vacation about a month ago, for a week, and now I am on vacation again for a week. I don’t want to encroach on the very popular Weather property we run here at Indignity, but I am gonna use my space to delve a tiny bit into today’s conditions at my undisclosed vacation desk, where it’s a little cool, 67 degrees under a hazy sky, after a mess of 90-plus degree days, and it’s a nice change from all the perspiring, especially yesterday, when I made a pilgrimage to the racetrack at Saratoga, and my horse naturally won, but jeez, it was hot down there in horse country. Anyway, I made a nice little score, it was enough to cover a festive celebratory meal, and then I got the hell outta that town before I started thinking I should maybe go back to the track today and try to push my winning streak.
So! It’s been a nice vacation so far, and the Gentle Readers of the Mr. Wrong column know that the motto, or possibly the ethos, or at least the slogo, of the Mr. Wrong column is: Always Be Columning! I think “slogo” is one of those fake words from Advertising or something, where you smush a slogan and a logo together, I guess it is a portmanteau or a neologism, maybe, but I am not gonna look it up, because I am very happy to employ the word “slogo” today, Thursday, July 31, I am gettin’ loose, crackin’ my knuckles and doing my back stretches for the lumbar region, up here in the beautiful and woodsy Adirondacks of Upstate NY, yeah, baby, another installment of the award-winning Mr. Wrong Column, bustin’ out the slogo, ethos-wise, and typing a shiny-new, pine-tree-fresh, and refreshing lakewater-drenched episode of the MWC.
SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: I have just decided today inside this vacation edition of the Mr. Wrong Column, to employ an acronym when referring to the Mr. Wrong Column, so someday when we print t-shirts or make stickers I can print one of those three-letter deals that people like to make, the black letters in a white oval, and it’ll be MWC. I think back in the day those stickers started out as metal plates on imported cars, and then people started goofing on the idea, and now there’s zillions of those three-letter stickers out there. I am gonna remain ignorant on “slogo,” but I wanted to know about these letter-codes on cars, so, Today I Learned over at Wikipedia:
The Geneva Convention on Road Traffic entered into force on 26 March 1952. One of the main benefits of the convention for motorists is the obligation on signatory countries to recognize the legality of vehicles from other signatory countries. When driving in other signatory countries, the distinguishing sign of the country of registration must be displayed on the rear of the vehicle. This sign must be placed separately from the registration plate and may not be incorporated into the vehicle registration plate.
The display of a national distinctive mark on a white oval plate, 30 cm × 18 cm (12 in × 7 in) with black letters was first introduced by the 1909 International Convention with respect to the Circulation of Motor Vehicles signed in Paris.
Wow, the Geneva Convention on Road Traffic, who knew? Does the United States of America even follow any Geneva Conventions anymore? Oof! Some of ‘em are only one or two letters. The country of Malawi uses MW, but nobody uses MWC, so, and therefore, vaguely pursuant to the Convention on Road Traffic, I am claiming it for the Free Republic of the Mr. Wrong Column. MWC!
The MR. WRONG COLUMN is a general-interest column appearing weekly. No refunds. Write Wrong: wrongcolumn@gmail.com. .
WEATHER REVIEW
Cape Town, July 29, 2025
★★★★★ A roaring, drumming sound outside the window was a shower pounding down on the parking lot in the full bright morning sunshine. After it was gone, the morning was as warm as May in the Northern Hemisphere. A pied crow flapped up to the top of a streetlight. Wind buffeted the ears on the slope of the Tygerberg, hissed in the grasses, and tugged at a calla lily standing alone on the upslope. Most of the shrubs were dry gray-green but the moss on the packed earth on the trail's edges was vivid. Today's haze was white and clung to the mountains as well as the lowlands. A pair of falcons came flying fast over the top of the ridge. In midafternoon the open-topped tour bus inched along through rush hour, with the shielded front of the upper deck alternating between beating sun and a new chilly breeze. Low-angled light traced the contours of the open fields of District Six. The view was clear up the mountains and across the bay; the furthest line of peaks looked like a pile of cumulus. Deep valleys fell away to the side with grapevines on their plunging slopes, like Tuscany triple-stretched vertically. Table Mountain cut off the sun but glory rays stretched out beside it. Then the sun reappeared, red and sinking in a line of clouds above the horizon of Camps Bay. People had stationed themselves on roadside overlooks to see it go. Sky and ocean were awash in pinks. The sun completed its disappearance—only to reemerge, through an unseen gap in the clouds just above the water, before slipping away again completely. The waves stayed pink until they neared the shore, where they reared up pale blue-green just before they broke.
Cape Town, July 30, 2025
★★ Dried leaves lay on the veranda outside breakfast under a cloudy sky. It was not clear whether the leaves had newly blown in with the gray or whether they were just more salient now. Halyards clanked against the empty flagpoles. A sheet of heavy cloud drooped down to conceal the upthrust stone top of Table Mountain, leaving it looking as if the gentle green lower slopes were all there was to it. Some rain fell on the drive to the botanical garden, and wind came roaring down the entrance path from the rearing rock face far ahead, suddenly and momentarily unveiled. All through the midday the shapes of the mountain came and went, while bits of blue showed to the southwest and patches of sun fell on distant parts of the city. An iridescent green bird came down to feed on red spikes of aloe flowers. Silvertrees glimmered in the soft daylight. A blackening of the clouds and a redoubled blast of wind on the way to the teahouse made it seem as if a storm were arriving, but in fact the downpour only started after lunch was over.
EASY LISTENING DEP'T.
HERE IS THE Indignity Morning Podcast archive!
TOM SCOCCA
POD JOB DEP'T. Vacation season is upon us and the Indignity Morning Podcast Studio anticipates a two week shutdown unless some un-ignorable piece of news breaks, and I find myself with unstructured time and a connection to the Internet, but, assuming nothing unexpected happens in either direction, we will talk again on August 11th.
ADVICE DEP'T.
HEY! DO YOU like advice columns? They don't happen unless you send in some letters! Surely you have something you want to justify to yourself, or to the world at large. Now is the perfect time to share it with everyone else through The Sophist, the columnist who is not here to correct you, but to tell you why you're right. Direct your questions to The Sophist, at indignity@indignity.net, and get the answers you want.
SANDWICH RECIPES DEP'T.
WE PRESENT INSTRUCTIONS in aid of the assembly of a sandwich selected from The White House Cook Book: A Comprehensive Cyclopedia of Information for the Home, by Hugo Ziemann and Mrs. Fanny Lemira Gillette, published in 1919, and available at archive.org for the delectation of all.
WATER CRESS SANDWICHES.
Wash well some water cress and then dry them in a cloth, pressing out every atom of moisture as far as possible; then mix with the cress hardboiled eggs chopped fine, and seasoned with salt and pepper. Have a stale loaf and some fresh butter, and with a sharp knife cut as many thin slices as will be required for two dozen sandwiches; then cut the cress into small pieces, removing the stems; place it between each slice of bread and butter, with a slight sprinkling of lemon juice; press down the slices hard, and cut them sharply on a board into small squares, leaving no crust.
MUSHROOM SANDWICHES.
Mince beef tongue and boiled mushrooms together, add French mustard and spread between buttered bread.
If you decide to prepare and attempt to enjoy a sandwich inspired by this offering, be sure to send a picture to indignity@indignity.net .
SELF-SERVING SELF-PROMOTION DEP'T.
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