Our friend Father Pitt tells us that Google Photos loves to remind you of your most precious memories from years gone by. Above the endless scroll of pictures will be “Recent Highlights,” “1 year ago,” “2 years ago,” and so on.

How does Google guess which memories might be most precious to its users? We have no idea. We suspect Google has no more idea than we have. But Father Pitt notes that, out of literally hundreds of pictures he took on a day out on the town, the one Google selected was this one. It depicts the floor, wall, baseboard heating, and part of a seat of a 4200-series streetcar on the Red Line, with Father Pitt’s own bedraggled old Florsheim prominently featured in just the right spot to make a pleasing composition according to the Rule of Thirds. (He would normally have been wearing breeches tied below the knee and a pair of well-fitted hose, but the Port Authority was celebrating Modern Dress Day.) So clearly some intelligence has gone into picking, out of hundreds of pictures, the only one where the shutter accidentally fired while the photographer was adjusting the camera.

The Easter Bunny, technically a spring ephemeral, is a monotreme subspecies of rabbit (Cuniculus paschalis). More than one convention of mammalian taxonomists has decayed into a brawl over this classification.

The eggs laid by the Easter Bunny are almost all infertile. Only one fertilized egg is laid every year, which produces next year’s Easter Bunny.

The Easter Bunny’s full name is Bernard, but he prefers the nickname “Bunny” as being less embarrassing.

The popular Christmas song “The Little Drummer Boy” was actually written by the Easter Bunny under the pseudonym “Katherine Kennicott Davis.”

During his long annual vacation, the Easter Bunny collects stuffed plush representations of himself, a hobby he enjoys ironically.

“Thank you for calling customer service. If you are calling about the class-action settlement, press 1.”

I hereby call to order this meeting of the Ancient and Exalted Order of the Klu Kux Crayon. I mean the Cool Krux Can. The Kull Kax Croon. The Crew Kux Clam. Oh, for Pete’s sake, y’all, I cain’t even say the stupid name. Yeah, it’s stupid. Y’all are pathetic. Look at you. I joined the Crayon—I mean—aw, stuff it—I joined cause they said this was the way to power and influence. Y’all ain’t got no more power than a triple-A battery! Y’all are more pathetic than I am! Y’all even made me your Grand Exalted Klosprey or Klaardvark or whatever, and I work at Burger King. We ain’t never had a single man in public office in the whole dang county. Heck, we ain’t had no one on the ballot since Eustace ran for registrar of deeds, and he lost to that Catholic fella from Coosawhatchie. We just sit around in Herb’s basement drinkin’ Bud Light and usin’ up good bedsheets that Mrs. Deaver has to wash the beer stains out of every week cause no one wants to spend the fifty bucks for a regular white robe. If y’all want power and influence, join the quiltin’ club. Black lives matter, y’all. Get a life.

From the Wikipedia article on William Zorach:

It was here that their daughter was born, all the while producing various prints depicting country life.

The good thing about self-learning algorithms is that they are not proud.

Dear Dr. Boli: Why did I just see a Red Line car on the Blue Line in Overbrook? I mean, you expect to see the Silver Line on the Blue Line, and sometimes the Red, Silver, and Blue Lines on the Brown Line, but why the Red Line on the Blue Line? Is this a sign of the End Times? —Sincerely, The Rev. Albatross Tarn, Countdown Assembly of God Church Congregation, Overbrook.

Dear Sir: Your question gives us an opportunity to explore the deepest workings of the bureaucratic mind as it interacts with the 163 years of encrusted streetcar tradition in Pittsburgh. Bring a compass, climbing tackle, blasting caps, and a ukulele, and we shall begin our descent.

The general rule is that the Red Line begins at Overbrook Junction and winds under Mount Lebanon, through the back yards of Dormont, and down the main street of Beechview, finally joining the Blue and Silver Lines at South Hills Junction to go through the Transit Tunnel and then to the subway downtown. However, a fair number of the inbound Red Line trips actually originate farther out at South Hills Village (because the car barn is there) and follow the Blue Line until the two lines diverge at Overbrook Junction; and likewise a number of the outbound trips go past Overbrook Junction and continue to South Hills Village.

A few days ago, some shifting was detected in the long viaduct that carries the Red Line and the South Busway (the Yellow Line on the maps) over the Saw Mill Run valley. For certain historical reasons, Pittsburghers are in a mood to worry about bridges at the moment. Till the bridge is repaired, the inner half of the Red Line is closed from Potomac on in to South Hills Junction. Rail shuttles run from Overbrook Junction to Potomac, and bus shuttles through Beechview to downtown.

So far that probably makes perfect sense to you. However, there are still the Red Line trips that originate or end at South Hills Village. These are now diverted over the Blue Line. For the entire route, they follow the Blue Line stop for stop. There is nothing but the words “Red Line” on the front of the trolley to distinguish them from Blue Line trips. They are, however, still Red Line trips by nature. It is true that, from the passenger’s point of view, they have nothing at all to do with the Red Line. The naive passenger thinks that what makes a Red Line car is the fact that, sooner or later, it travels on the Red Line. The trained bureaucrat, however, sees through to the true εἶδος of each trip, and understands that, even if the Red Line is temporarily closed, even if the Red Line were to be wiped off the map by map-wiping weevils, cars that set out from South Hills Village at the times set aside for Red Line trips are still Red Line cars. This is why you will be seeing Red Line cars running through Overbrook until that viaduct is put back together properly.