Dear Readers! Good news. I have finally managed to talk the Drawing Lady into coming by the blog again to give us another drawing lesson! Now please remember, Dear Readers, that The Drawing Lady is a tortured artist and, as such, is as explosive as a Nitroglycerin Shirley Temple with a dynamite swizzle stick.
Oh shh . . . here she comes, now remember what I said.
Dear Readers, today the Drawing Lady will be teaching us how to draw just like the master artist, Edgar Degas!
Perhaps you are asking why Edgar Degas, Drawing Lady? What not Vincent Van Gogh, Michael Angelo or Leonardo da Vinci?
Dear Readers. Please do not pepper The Drawing Lady with questions. The Drawing Lady has only recently recovered from her jump out the sixth story window of her art school. The Drawing Lady would simply like you to draw the Edgar Degas’s Masterpiece, Two Sisters, below:
The Drawing Lady says now you try:
Is this right Drawing Lady? Is this the way you want us to draw the Two Sisters, Drawing Lady? Does this look okay, Drawing Lady?
Dear Readers, The Drawing Lady cannot answer your questions right now because she is busy pulling out her hair. In the meantime, The Drawing Lady would like you to draw Portrait of Degas and His Friend Valerne.
The Drawing Lady says now you try.
You mean like this, Drawing Lady? Does this look like Degas painted it, Do you think we got the expression right on Valerne, Drawing Lady?
Dear Readers, The Drawing Lady cannot hear your questions right now because she is too busy screaming noooooo! In the meantime The Drawing Lady is hoping against hope that you can do better drawing the Degas masterpiece, Uncle and Niece.
The Drawing Lady says now you try.
How’s this look Drawing Lady? Do the fingers look right, Drawing Lady? Do you think we captured Uncle’s expressive face, Drawing Lady? Drawing Lady? . . . Drawing Lady? . . . Drawing Lady?
Dear Readers I regret to inform you that the Drawing Lady has gone stalk-raving mad and jumped out the window concluding our drawing lesson for today.
Until next time . . . I love you, however, The Drawing Lady doesn’t love you as much as she did at the beginning of this post.
Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories. Today in Sunday School, Gregory learned about the day Ezekiel had an unusual experience. Let’s listen in as he recounts the story for us.
Ezekiel’s Weight Problem
One day the prophet Ezekiel was relaxing down by the Chebar river in Babylonia where he was hanging out with some of his exiled Jewish buddies enjoying some Chebar cheese when, suddenly, there was a tremendous rumble.
At first he thought it was just his stomach rumbling from eating too much Chebar cheese, but he soon realized the noise was coming from the sky.
He looked up and was amazed to see a UFBO (unidentified flying biblical object).
He fell face down and heard a voice calling him.
God: Mortal Man stand up I want to talk to you.
Ezekiel: Do I have to get up? I’m really comfortable right now.
God: I am sending you to the people of Israel.
Ezekiel: May I ask why?
God: They have rebelled against me and turned against me and are still rebels just as their ancestors were. So I am sending you to tell them what I, the sovereign lord, am saying to them.
Ezekiel: Wouldn’t it be easier to just fly over there in your UFBO and tell them Yourself?
God: They are stubborn and do not respect me so I am sending you instead.
Ezekiel: Okay let me get this straight. You, the sovereign lord, who is flying around the holy land in Your UFBO can’t get the Israelites to listen to you or respect you so you’re sending me instead, a guy who is currently unemployed, slightly overweight and living down by the river? Do you really think I’m up to the job?
God: Just tell the people of Israel whatever I tell you to tell them. But don’t be afraid of them even though they will despise you and even though it will feel like you are living among scorpions.
Ezekiel: Well okay, but scorpions are my least favorite insect.
God: Scorpions really? That’s refreshing. Most people say spiders. Anyway, open your mouth and eat this.
Ezekiel: What is it?
God: A scroll upon which cries of grief, wails and moans are written on both sides.
Ezekiel: No thanks I’m allergic to papyrus.
God: It’s chocolate covered . . . .
Ezekiel: Oh in that case, don’t mind if I do!
Ezekiel ate the scroll. (It gave him hives but God pretended not to notice.) Then God’s spirit lifted Ezekiel and carried him to another spot by the Chebar River where Ezekiel resumed eating Chebar cheese and hanging out with different group of his exiled Jewish buddies.
Seven days later God showed up again
God: Okay, here’s the deal. If I announce that an evil man is going to die, it’s going to be your job to warn him. If you don’t warn him to change his ways and he dies a sinner, I will hold you responsible for his death but if you do warn him and he doesn’t stop sinning he’ll die a sinner but your life will be spared. Got that?
Ezekiel: Uh . . .well . . . uh . . .
God: Now get up and go into the valley and I will talk to you there.
Ezekiel: But I just got comfortable.
God: . . . ahem . . .
Ezekiel : Okay okay but can I at least bring my Chebar cheese with?
God: If you must.
Ezekiel: Say you wouldn’t happen to have anymore of those delicious chocolate-covered scrolls would you?
God: Yes but you can’t have any.
God: They’re too fattening.
Ezekiel: What are you implying? I’ve been eating too much Chebar Cheese?
God: All I can say is that last statement of yours needs no question mark.
Eziekiel:Well! I’ve never been so insulted in my whole life!
God: That robe of yours is getting awfully tight . . . just sayin’. So anyway, next I’m going to want you to go home and shut yourself up in the house and I’ll tie you up with ropes so you won’t be able to go out in public then I’m going to paralyze your tongue.
Eziekiel: Wait . . . is this some sort of new-fangled diet?
God: I’ll tell you next week in Part II.
And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday School. Please check back next week to find out what God asks of Ezekiel next and whether or not Ezekiel will lose weight and overcome his papyrus allergy.
Hello Dear Readers. As you may remember earlier this week, we were discussing some ads that appeared in an 81-year-old Saturday Evening Post such as this one for Gluey Paste:
I am happy to report, that I have done some extensive research this week into the exciting, fast-paced Gluey Paste industry and needless to say did not come up empty handed.
Have you often dreamed of living the glamorous life of a Gluey Paste Professional Salesman or woman but cried yourself to sleep each night thinking it would be impossible?
Well, Dear Reader, you can now turn those tears of sorrow into tears of joy in ten (or maybe eleven) easy steps!
How to Be A Successful Gluey Paste Salesman in Ten (or maybe eleven) Easy Steps!
As a Gluey Paste Professional Salesman, you will begin any successful sales call by shaking the hand of the potential Gluey Paste customer and greet him by saying, “How do you do, Mr. Smith.”
The salutation should be immediately followed by noticing a smudge on Mr. Smith’s elbow and offering to wipe it off — the act of which will quickly bond Mr. Smith to you, the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman.
Uh oh. It looks like you, as the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman, might have inadvertently bonded yourself to Mr. Smith literally.
Do not be alarmed as this happens more often than not. However, it is of the utmost importance that you, as the Professional Gluey Paste Salesmen, remain calm and under no circumstances let Mr. Smith know what has just transpired.
Assuming a nonchalant air, casually turn around so that you and potential customer, Mr. Smith, are facing in the same direction.
This might be a good time to introduce an interesting topic of conversation, such as: “How ’bout them Yankees?” A question that will keep Mr. Smith so busy thinking, he’ll undoubtedly fail to notice that he is glued to you, the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman.
Next, you must inch Mr. Smith in the direction of the washroom with the eventual outcome of washing the glue off each of you.
However, in order to get Mr. Smith to cooperate fully without being the wiser, you simply explain that as the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman, you are very interested in the equipment in the washroom to see if it correlates with the amount of glue a potential customer such as Mr. Smith is likely to purchase.
Should you, as the Gluey Paste Professional Salesman, suddenly trip and land in the manner pictured above, calmly explain to Mr. Smith that you are practicing your moves for an audition later in the afternoon with the Flying Wallenda’s.
Mr. Smith will not only understand-; he’s very likely to be impressed with your well-rounded personality.
This is the most precarious time in any successful sales call for both you, the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman, and your potential customer, Mr. Smith.
While you are struggling to get things “back on track”, it is recommended that you belt out a rousing rendition of Camp Town Racers since it has been scientifically proven that the singing of Camp Town Racer’s puts people in the mood to buy glue.
Once you have managed to unstick your hand from Mr. Smith’s elbow, next stick your hand onto Mr. Smith’s knee.
Now, of course, it is just a matter of “walking” Mr. Smith over to a chair so that he can sit down and sign the purchase agreement for upwards of 14 cases of Gluey Paste!
Be careful here because this is often the critical moment in which Mr. Smith is likely to get cold feet causing you to have wasted the entire morning without getting any sales commission. Therefore you must be prepared to put some serious sales pressure on Mr. Smith.
( Please note this step is only to be used should steps one through ten fail to produce a sale.)
If Mr. Smith still refuses to “come around” after utilizing steps one through ten, pull out the stops by pulling out your Gluey Paste Company issued Smith and Wesson revovlver.
Not only will Mr. Smith’s status be instantly upgraded from potential customer to loyal customer, you’ll be well on your way to experiencing the exciting lifestyle of a world-class Gluey Paste Professional Salesman!
Welcome Dear Readers to this week’s edition of the Gregory’s Bible Stories.
Today in Sunday School, Gregory learned about how Abraham got a surprise visit from three men with some unbelievable news concerning his wife, Sarah. This week’s story is loosely based on Genesis 18: 1-15 if you would like to loosely follow along.
Holy Rollers! Sarah’s Bad Hair Day!
One hot biblical afternoon in the Sacred Trees of Mamre, Abraham was sitting in the entrance of his tent trying to get cool. The air-conditioning (hand-cranked) was on the blitz due to the fact that all his hand-cranking slaves were out sick with carpal tunnel syndrome.
Abraham was just sitting there relaxing, unraveling some stray threads on his robe when he looked up and saw three men standing nearby. When Abraham saw them. he ran out to greet them and bowed to the ground.
Abraham could tell just by looking at them that they were pretty special. (Some biblical scholars believe Abraham could tell the three men were special because they were all wearing robes that had God Squad printed in big Hebrew letters on the backs while other biblical scholars believe some biblical scholars are full of it.)
The conversation that followed might have gone something like this:
Abraham: Well hello there fellows! It is me, Abraham, you’re humble servant. Take a load off under that tree over there, while I’ll run to fetch some water to wash your feet. Not that they need it, or anything.
Three men: Sounds good.
Abraham: Oh and I’ll also bring you some food so that you may refresh yourselves.
Three men: We sure could use some lawn chairs while you’re at it.
Abraham: Tell me about it! Unfortunately my lawn-chair-weaver slaves are out sick with osteoarthritis.
Three men: Very well, just get us some food and wash our feet then.
Abraham: I’m on it!
Abraham ran back to the tent to tell his wife, Sarah, about the three visitors. The conversation might have gone something like this:
Abraham: Sarah, quick! Get out the best flour and bake some bread, get all these tent pillows picked up, this place is a sty! And, you, slaves with the carpal tunnel syndrome! Look alive!
Sarah: What’s going on?
Abraham: We’ve got important visitors. Oh, for heavens sakes, Sarah, why are you still wearing curlers in your hair when it’s eleven o’clock in the morning?
Sarah: Can I help it if my curler-unfurling-slaves are all out sick with–
Abraham: Don’t tell me. Carpal tunnel syndrome?
Sarah: No I think it’s tendonitis.
Abraham hurried out into his herd of cattle and picked out a calf that was tender and fat and handed it over to his barbecuing slave.
Abraham: Here you go barbecuing slave. Take this calf and cook it for the visitors. Make it medium rare and don’t forget to baste it.
Cooking Slave: I can make it medium rare, but I won’t be able to baste it as I’m having a little trouble with my–
Abraham: Don’t tell me. Tendonitis?
Cooking Slave: No I think it’s Repetitive Strain Injury.
When everything was ready Abraham scurried out to the visitors. He took them some meat, some cream and some milk and set the food before the men. He served them himself and they ate, and then they asked Abraham:
Three men: Where’s your wife, Sarah?
Abraham: She’s in the tent, she’s having a having a bad hair day.
One man who later turned out to be the Lord said: Nine months from now I will come back and your wife Sarah will have a son.
When Sarah overheard this revelation from inside the tent, she laughed to herself because not only was she too old to have a baby, Abraham was 99, and Viagra hadn’t even been invented yet.
The Lord: Why does Sarah think she can’t have a baby? I just heard her laughing to herself inside the tent. Is there anything too hard for the Lord? As I said, nine months from now I will return and Sarah will have a son.
Sarah: I didn’t laugh, Lord.
The Lord: Oh yes you did, Sarah! I heard you!
Sarah: What? No, that’s the sound I always make when I have to yank out my own curlers. It’s more of yelp than a laugh.
The Lord: I know laughing when I hear it, and you were laughing.
Sarah:No I wasn’t!
The Lord: Yes you were!
Abraham: Hey you two! What difference does it make? It’s not like thousands of years from now people will be reading in the bible about whether or not the Lord overheard Sarah laughing . . . .
The Lord: Well I suppose you’re right.
Abraham: That’s the spirit! Now, who wants another foot washing — raise your hand!
The Lord: I’ll take another one.
Abraham: Great! Listen would you mind if Sarah washed your feet instead of me. All this foot washing is giving me–
The Lord: Repetitive Strain Injury?.
Abraham: No I think it’s Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday School today. Please check back next week when Abraham tries to think of something positive to say to say to the Lord about Sodom.
Last night, I was browsing through this 81 year-old Saturday Evening Post (I’m trying to catch up on my reading), when I came across this ad:
This ad states that in 1931, Gluey Paste was used in over half of schools in the United States. It doesn’t say what the other half used, I’m guessing Pastey Glue.
And since it was the Great Depression, it’s also probably safe to assume that whether it was Gluey Paste or Pastey Glue — it was certainly the favorite breakfast choice for United States school children everywhere.
Underneath that ad was this happy thought:
As the ad so carefully blurts out, if your feet (and toes) are itchy you, could have anything from Athlete’s Foot to Gym Foot — maybe even going so far as to have contracted a case of Golfer’s Itch which is apparently a subsidiary itch of the athlete or the person who frequents a gym.
The ad also mentions ringworm right after mentioning
Golfer’s Itch. So apparently back in 1931, it was common place to contract ringworm while golfing.
Of course, it was nothing to worry about since Dr. Scholl’s Solvex could be used as a remedy and purchased for a buck. And if that didn’t work, you could always steal some Gluey Paste or Pastey Glue off some United States School children and give that a go.
And of course, what man could hold his head up in public without:
Apparently in 1931, there were two ways to wear one’s hair. Brushed or Well Brushed. The pinnacle to which one could aspire hair-wise in 1931, was to have “well brushed hair all the time,” in addition to a “healthy scalp” (Apparently a healthy scalp wasn’t a given and there were a profusion of unhealthy scalps to be encountered at every turn that one must politely ignore.)
The ad goes on to imply that in order to get both well brushed hair all the time AND a healthy scalp simultaneously, one must pour liquid hair dressing on one’s head taking great care to smell it first.
If it was unscented it went on the head-; if it was scented it went on the head of lettuce.
It goes without saying, of course, that said wearer should thoroughly saturate the hair and scalp in order to get that freshly applied “oily glow” hence the catchy name: Glo-co!
So there you have it, Dear Reader! And what did we learn today? Let’s review in case you suddenly find yourself whisked away to the Great Depression:
We learned that in 1931, Pastey Glue and Gluey Paste were an important part of every child’s breakfast.
We learned that in 1931, if you didn’t have ringworm, you probably weren’t a very good golfer.
We learned that in 1931, men with oil dripping down the back of their necks had healthy scalps.
Good news Dear Reaers! I was milling around my favorite thrift store yesterday when I found this poetry book written by slighty-creepy-seventies poet extraordinaire, Rod McKuen — world renowned for his random-carriage-return, arbitrary-space-bar poetry!
I looked up the price of The Sound of Solitude on Abe Books. It’s worth a dollar. And I got it for 50-cents! Ha ha!Suckers!
Okay, let’s get serious now and open to a poem at random from The Sound of Solitude by Rod McKuen:
I light one candle
With another’s flame
And getting up to leak
I look across at you
First of all, Rod, it is very dangerous to sleep with candles lit. You really need to blow them out! For heaven sakes, you’re going to burn the house down!
Secondly, I’m a little concerned that you are leaking. I’m assuming you are referring to a shrapnel injury incurred while in the war, but at least you seem to be aware that leaking while lying down only makes things worse. Okay, keep going Rod.
Still curled and sleeping
Coming back I start to pass
I stop. Stand back and see me
naked in the candlelight
See? What did I tell you? If you would have blown out those candles like you should have, you wouldn’t have that problem now would you?
Was I ever beautiful,
ever young or wise
deserving of your arms or other’s?
Tiny suggestion Rod, Don’t you think saying: “deserving of your arms or, failing that, other’s“ would be kinder to whomever you are referring to? They might read this poem, you now.
Head-on is even harsh by candleglow
love handles bulge on either side.
Just a thought . . . could it be that it’s your love handles that are leaking? (I know a good Love-Handle specialist you might want to consult.)
Of what was once an unfilled frame that I hung hopes on,
never excess flesh
Oh I know what you mean! I always put excess flesh in dryer.
I look at you a second time
hoping I can dive beneath the covers
before you catch my silhouette
against the wall.
My pulse thumps loud enough
to blunt the metronome of cicada
calling to cicada,
OMG Rod! How did you ever get yourself into such a poetic pickle? See how complicated life gets when you don’t blow out the candles?
Now you’re going to have to call the exterminators to get rid of the cicada infestion. I hope you’ve learned your lesson!
(Oh and be sure to get that pulse thump checked out when you go see the Love-Handle specialist.)
Safe. I hit third base
and slide to home.
You only turn and grumble in your sleep
I do not go back to sleep
Well, maybe all you need is a few hours at the batting cages . . .
All life is spent erecting barricades
that none of us can get through
when love finally comes
And none of this would have even been an issue, Rod, if you would have just taken the time to blow out the candles. I hate to say I told you so, but . . . well I wont’ say it, I wouldn’t want to upset you. You might start leaking again.
Until next time . . . I love (handle specialist) you
Having missed the last train to Dorkville, Bobby decided to hang out with me at the coffee shop where I worked — until the next train arrived.
Well not really hang out officially. More like send me imagined hugs and kisses and god only knows what else from upon the stool he spent a lot of time occupying at the lunch counter.
Bobby was 35, and I was 19. He was married to a 15-year-old (which was apparently legal in some states back then) but worst of all, Bobby had fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love with me after having misinterpreted my statement, may I take your order? to mean I love you Bobby!
From that point forward Bobby was in dorky-stalker Love with a capital L.
Bobby’s personalityconsisted entirely of him saying no way shape or form after everything.
He’d say: Do you know what time it is?
I’d say: 2:30
He’d say: No way shape or form! (only he’d draw out the word form like this: fo-ho-ho-horm!)
Or he’d say, “Can I get a cup of coffee?”
I’d say: “Do you take cream?”
He’d say: “No way shape or fo-ho-ho-horm.”
“I want to get you something for Valentines Day.” Bobby said to me one day.
“No please! BOBBY!! Listen to me!” I pleaded, “You’re married! It’s completely inappropriate! Please I beg of you. DO NOT GET ME ANYTHING FOR VALENTINES DAY!”
“No way shape or fo-ho-ho-horm.” Bobby sing-songed. “I’m getting you something anywho!”
Well sure enough, on Valentines day, during the busiest part of the lunch hour when the coffee shop was full, here comes Bobby waltzing through the restaurant making a beeline straight for me, his eyes shining brightly with dorky-stalker love, his thick coke-bottle glasses slightly askew in his excitement, carrying a two-and-a-half pound box of chocolates that had a huge story-book doll glued to the top of it.
All eyes and ears were ratchetedour way listening to the conversation that ensued:
Bobby: I brought you something, Sweetie! Happy Valentines day!
I said, “No I can’t take this Bobby! No! You need to give it to your wife.”
Bobby: “No way shape or fo-ho-ho-horm.” I already gave her one just like it!”
Embarrassed and defeated, I took the world’s largest box of chocolates from Bobby’s grubby little hands — but only because I was starting to hear some “oh how sweet ooh-ing and ahh-ing” coming from the lunch crowd. And I stuck it out of sight as quickly as I could before dissolving into a perfect puddle of Valentines Day humiliation.
I don’t remember what finally happened to Bobby. Maybe somebody shot him.
If so, we all know what his last words were.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Dear Readers, and may today and all your Valentines Days be Bobby-free!
Until next time . . . I love you (No . . no! Not you Bobby!)
Welcome Dear Readers to Gregory’s Vacation Bible School. Today Gregory is telling the class about the time Jesus got baptized. Let’s listen in, shall we?
Jesus Gets Baptized
Before Jesus came along, John the Baptist was the official spokesperson for the Lord.
John the Baptist was a cousin of Jesus, but he was from the side of the family who were a little different. John the Baptist’s favorite outfit was a romper made of camel’s hair and a wide leather belt, and he ate nothing but locusts and honey. (He had the Jesus family sweet tooth though!)
John the Baptist had a little baptizing enterprise on the Jordan River. One day Jesus came to him to be baptized.
Here’s what scholars believe the conversation might have gone like:
John the Baptist: Jesus! Cousin! Nice to see you again. I was just having my lunch. Would you care for a locust sandwich? There’s plenty.
Jesus: Uh . . . no thank you I’ve already eaten lunch. I stopped at Saul’s All You Can Eat House of Figs on the way here. I’m stuffed!
John the Baptist: Well how about some dessert then? I’ve got honey . . .
Jesus: Sure, but first I was wondering if I could get you to baptize me?
John the Baptist: What? No! Me baptize you? NO! Get out! You should be baptizing ME!
Jesus: No! You should be baptizing me.
John the Baptist: No you!
Jesus: No you!
John the Baptist: No you!
Jesus: No you!
John the Baptist: Okay okay, you win cousin Jesus! Just let me finish my sandwich first.
Well, John the Baptist must have done an extra good job at baptizing Jesus because as soon as Jesus came out of the water, the Heavens opened up and the Spirit of God came down like a dove and landed on Jesus and then a voice said, “This is my own dear Son, with whom I am pleased,” which didn’t normally happen — if ever.
Right after that, The Dove lead Jesus into the desert to be tempted by the Devil. After 40 days and nights without food, Jesus was so hungry he wished he would have taken John the Baptist up on that honey and locust sandwich.
Just about the time The Dove was starting to look pretty darned delicious, the Devil showed up.
“If you are God’s son, order these stones to turn into bread.”
To which Jesus replied that man cannot live on bread alone but needs every word that God speaks. (Plus Jesus didn’t really care that much for bread that was made from magically transformed stones. He always though they had a funny after taste.)
But the devil had another trick up his red leotard
He whisked Jesus to the top of a temple in Jerusalem and told Jesus that if he threw himself off and the angels caught him, the devil would give him the deed to the world — all Jesus had to do was get down on his knees and worship him.
Hello? Could you be anymore obvious? Scholars believe Jesus might have thought just before blurting out, “Go away, Satan!
So the devil went to crawl back underneath the rock he had crawled out from under, but, by then, they were all loaves of bread.
And there you have it, Dear Reader, this week’s installment of the Bible According to Gregory.
Hello Dear Readers. Hey! Look what I found from 1982!
Today we are taking a little trip back in time to the year 1982. A time when it was considered attractive to wear football shoulder pads underneath all your dresses and a time when every wishbone wish in America was to wake up with cowlicks covering 90 percent of your head.
Let’s take a closer look at the 80’s through the pages of A People’s Friend Special, Time Saver’s Cook Book and see what people considered edible back in 1982 or as it is sometimes referred to by Food Historians 198eww.
Super Waffles 198eww Style
Now here’s a real 80’s treat! Waffles covered with things that don’t go with waffles at all. Like tomatoes! And kidneys! And whatnot!
Let’s take a closer look at the 198eww deliciousness:
Although this looks a bit suspicious, the recipe absolutely insists this is a waffle and not a shingle! Therefore, what is on it is not what you’re thinking is on it even though it looks exactly like what you’re thinking is on it.
But please don’t think about what’s on it anymore, Dear Readers, because you wouldn’t want to ruin your appetite for:
Whatever This Is
And finally our Pièce de résistance from 198eww:
Unfortunately there is nothing in the ingredients that would account for the unidentified miscellaneous chunks floating around at large (and small). Well, we must remember that in the 198eww, absolutely nothing made sense. Even though we loved pretending it did!
Oh Dear Readers! Look what crossed my path yesterday at the used bookstore!
Here’s 1963, Master’s Champion Jack Nicklaus singing the praises of the MacGregor Woods with their exclusive penetrating impregnation method! Wow! Now that’s impressive!
The ad goes on to explain that the exclusive penetrating impregnation method was the most talked about club feature in golf! (Well, I should say so!) “Because it let’s you use a wood with confidence in bad lies.” Gosh I wonder if Tiger knows about this?
Hey! Who doesn’t want to live in a world where shirts were only $5.00 raise your hand!
Stuffed shirts didn’t come any less wrinkle-free than in 1963 thanks to Docoma Breeze shirts boasting Grip-Tab, Dress ‘n Play, Blake collars — which only cool city dwellers could afford at $5 a pop. And if that didn’t make a man want to drive around Manhattan, mannequin-like, in a car three-sizes too small –1963 doesn’t know what did!
Don’t Worry Honey! Kent’s Micronite Filter makes cigarettes good for you!
Apparently back in 1963, the key to smoking fun was getting the cigarette to have the mildest taste of all! Kent was hoping that smokers wouldn’t put 2 and 2 together and realize that the mildest taste of all would be not smoking any cigarettes at all.
Question! What’s more fun than shooting guns with daddy? Shooting guns with daddy in the house! What else?
What better way for fathers to bond with their sons and to teach their sons to grow up to be men than by shooting bb guns with them in the house? Oh sure, a few of mother’s prized figureens may have to be sacrificed, and little Suzie’s buttox will probably never be the same — but it’s a small price to pay for teaching little boys what it really means to be a man — 1963 style!
Now then wasn’t that fun? I hope you liked our little foray into the world of 1963, Dear Readers!
Hello Dear Readers! For those of you who just woke up from a coma, congratulations! You’re just in time for Christmas!! Don’t worry if you haven’t got your shopping done yet. I haven’t either and I haven’t even been in a coma. So while I’m out shopping, here’s a little Christmas shopping story about the year my daughter wanted a My Size Barbie!
Big Bucks Barbie
One year my daughter asked Santa for a “My Size Barbie.” A “My Size Barbie” is a Barbie doll that has been fed huge amounts of hormones at the factory causing her to become the size of Daryl Hannah.
To ensure that “My Size Barbie” would be in stock, I went to the toy store early. I approached the Barbie aisle and was about to ask where I might find The Big One, when I tripped over a humongous box containing “My Size Barbie” nearly breaking “My Size Arm.”
The adrenalin rush I experienced from the fall enabled me to heft the package containing The Incredible Babs onto my cart, but not being Arnold Schwartzenegger (or even Maria Shriver), I wasn’t strong enough to maneuver the box so that I could see the price tag.
I inched my Barbie-burdened cart to the checkout stand where it took four of us to hoist The Big Gal onto the scanner, and I mentally noted that perhaps some low-fat Barbie cuisine would make an apropos stocking stuffer.
Being an alert consumer, I had estimated the price at around $40, $50 or maybe even $60.
“Do you know how much this is?” I asked the clerk.
“I’ll let you know in a sec, hon,” she said as she fired up the jaws of life to help her run Buxom Barb over the scanner.
As I waited for the price to appear, I recalled a Christmas of long ago when I had received a Barbie Dream House. My mother had lovingly assembled it all by herself. It had taken her the better part of the Kennedy administration.
Assembles in four years
That had been my favorite Christmas and I owed it all to my mother and to my Barbie. How ironic that this Christmas I would be giving my daughter The Mother of All Barbies.
“Excuse me ma’am? The “My Size Barbie’ is $128. Did you still want it?”
One-hundred and twenty-eight dollars! Suddenly everything began to move in slow motion. I could feel myself turning white . . . then red . . . then green . . . like an aluminum Christmas tree on a rotating stand.
I looked at the clerk, then back at the 20 or so people waiting in line behind me. They were all staring at me and sighing a lot. Maybe they were thinking that I shouldn’t let my daughter down for a few lousy bucks and that I should forget the expense because, after all, it was Christmas. Finally, a gentleman from the back of the line offer his advice:
“Move it lady!”
Then the clerk from the neighboring checkout stand shouted over, ” My niece has one of those and they can wear the same clothes!” And then, just to bring it on home, she added, “I think she comes with an entire wardrobe!”
The clerk and I quickly tried to figure out how many outfits were included, but that information was on the opposite side of the box and somebody else was using the forklift.
In the end, I paid with a check so big it would have made “My Size Barbie” proud. And as the crane lowered The Ultimate Barbie onto the roof of my car, I knew in my heart I had made the right decision.
“A little to the left!”
When Christmas morning came, my little girl would open her very special present, and the wonder and joy that is Christmas would be captured again for one brief, shining moment.
I say brief because the day after Christmas, I made “My Size Barbie” go out and get a job.
Welcome Dear Readers! Today the Toaster Reviewer Gal was kind enough to drop by the blog and leave a copy of the cover letter she wrote for a Toaster Reviewer job she is hoping to get. Let’s take a look at it, shall we?
Position Applied for: Toaster Reviewer
Dear Hiring Manager:
Your posting on LinkedIn for a Professional Toaster Reviewer recently caught my eyes, perked up my ears and blew my nose (jk). I think you will find that I am an exceptional candidate for the position of Toaster Reviewer.
While I have been temporarily out of work for the last three years (don’t ask), I have still managed to stay on top of my game in the field of toaster reviewing.
You see, I currently own and operate a Hamilton Beach SmartToast Extra-Wide Slot 2 Slice Toaster with Tongs, upon which I keep my Toaster Reviewing skills as sharp as a butter knife by making toast each morning and recording all my thoughts and feelings about my toasting adventures in my journal entitled, “Scraping to Desired Lightness” (which is currently making the rounds at various publishing houses on the island of Guam, btw).
As an accomplished Toaster Reviewer, many of my reviews can be found on many high-level consumer review toaster websites such as:
So You’re Going to Have a Piece of Toast(www.soyou’regoingtohaveapieceoftoast.com)
Unplug the Smoke Detectors Kids!, Mommy’s Makin’ Toast! (www.goop.com).
But my accomplishments do not end there. I also offer exceptional attention to detail and come to the position with my private list of some of the most powerful toaster-review adjectives in the Toaster-Reviewing industry today–which I have gleaned over the course of my career as an international Professional Toaster Reviewer Career Gal!
As a Professional Toaster Reviewer Career Gal, I have written these e-books, which are, unfortunately, only available on Amazon Guam, but still!
My accomplishments and qualifications are further detailed in my hard copy resume which is on it’s way to you via the Guam postal service. Please disregard the burned edges, frankly the Hamilton Beach SmartToast Extra-Wide Slot 2 Slice Toaster with Tongs, still has some bugs that need working out in my professional opinion as a Professional Toaster Reviewer Gal (see above).
In closing, I am as thrilled about being a part of your Professional Toaster Reviewer team as you must be at receiving this cover letter from me. (That’s a Haiku, btw!)
Please contact me at my earliest convenience, and I look forward to our mutual admiration.
Everybody’s Favorite Toaster Reviewer Gal!
And there you have it, Dear Readers, and I don’t know about you but I think she’s got a pretty good chance. Especially if there’s an opening in Guam!
Welcome Dear Readers to this week’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories. Today in Sunday school Gregory couldn’t wait to get home to tell everyone about what he learned about the Garden of Eden. Let’s listen in, shall we?
What God Hath Whittled
When last we left God, He had just finished making Adam out of dirt. Adam turned out great, much better than the dust bunnies God had made the previous day — which even He had to admit didn’t resemble bunnies that much.
Then God put Adam in the Garden of Eden that God had just planted all by Himself. He tried to elicit Adam’s help, but Adam was horrible at taking initiative. God wanted to fire Adam and replace him with someone more competent but He came to this conclusion only after He had used the last of the dirt for potting soil.
After watching Adam live in the Garden of Eden ad nasuem, it soon became apparent to God that Adam was a bit of a mess cat. It wasn’t long before Adam had overrun the pond with dirty dishes, strewn banana peels everywhere and overflowed the laundry hamper with dirty fig leafs.
Then the Lord said, “It is not good for the man to live alone. I will make a suitable companion to help him.” To which Adam replied, “Hallelujah!”
So God made a quick trip to the Soil-Eleven and got some more dirt and formed all the animals and birds. Then He brought them to Adam to see what Adam would name them. Biblical Scholars believe the conversation might have gone something like this:
God: So, Adam, what do you want to name this really cool animal thingie I just made that has a tail like a beaver, a bill like a duck, webbed feet and this really cool spiky-thing in the back that has poison in it?
God: Kitty. Really? That’s it. Kitty?
God: That’s the best you can come up with?
Adam: Don’t you like Kittypus?
God: Not really.
Adam: Is it made out of dirt?
God: Actually I made this one out of Playdough.
Adam: How about Playdough Pus?
God: Okay, but only if you’re sure it won’t get mangled in the translation thousands of years from now.
Adam: I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life — except that I hate the taste of apples.
When God realized that none of the animals was going to be a suitable companion to help Adam, He decided using dirt as a construction material just wasn’t cutting it.
But hey! Speaking of cutting it . . . –why not cut a bone out of Adam and use it to make his companion? (This was way before baling wire had been invented.)
The Lord posed this question to Himself out loud but quietly so Adam wouldn’t hear Him. But Adam did hear and tried to run away by running around and around the Tree of Knowledge.
God tried explaining to Adam that it wasn’t going to do any good to run away because the question was rhetorical, but Adam didn’t know what rhetorical meant as, up to that point, anyway, he couldn’t stand the taste apples.
Finally, God stuck His Almighty Foot out and tripped Adam and Adam fell down into a deep sleep. Then God thought, what bone can I take out of Adam that he won’t miss?
Then God snapped His almighty Fingers. He would take out Adam’s middle ear bone, the stirrup. But when God went to take it out, He saw that Adam had broken it when he fell — so God had to put a cast on it instead.
Then God remembered how much fun it had been making Adam’s ribs. All He had to do was put the mud in His hands, close His fist and Voila! All you can eat ribs!
So the Lord God decided to use Adam’s rib to make a companion for Adam. He figured Adam would never know the difference anyway, because as much as God was loath to admit it, it was beginning to look like the Tree of Knowledge was kind of a lost cause on Adam.
So God pulled out one of Adam’s ribs and began whittling away everything that wasn’t a woman . . .
Well that’s all Gregory had time for today, Dear Readers. Please check back next week to find out what exactly it is that God hath whittled.
Back in the 50’s, life was a lot simpler than it is now. The only people who wore seat belts were test pilots. The only people who wore helmets were human cannon balls, and the only people who didn’t smoke like chimneys were nuns.
But when it came to illnesses, we were all pretty much screwed.
We fifties babies were issued one vaccine in the hospital for small pox, and then we were sent home to not die of smallpox. But for everything else, we babies were on our own.
We had to take our chances out there in the cold, cruel, lard-infested world with nary a helmet, a shin pad or a government-approved baby car seat to protect us. (To be fair, my baby brother did have a car seat. It hooked to the middle of the front seat and had a steering wheel.)
Come to think of it, just making it home from the hospital alive was a miracle. Since there were no car seats, I suppose some babies might have bought the farm by rolling off the back seat when Dad slammed on his brakes.
But whenever that happened I think they just flipped a uey and went right back to the hospital and grabbed another baby. After all, this was the 50’s, and there were plenty more where that came from.
Fun Fact: Whenever anyone ordered a round for the bar back in the 50’s, they were talking about a round of babies.
Anyway, once we made it home alive, the first thing we did was get sick with one of the following childhood illnesses:
Measles were little red spots that would suddenly appear all over your body. One minute you’d be pulling the string on your Chatty Cathy and then next minute, Ping! Ping! Ping! You’ve got the measles! They didn’t hurt or itch or anything. You just had to go around looking stupid.
There were two types of measles: The Three-day Measles and the dreaded . . . gulp . . . Red Measles! Everybody said you could die from the Red Measles, so you got to eat more ice cream with the Red Measles than with the Three-Day Measles because that bowl of vanilla ice cream you were enjoying just might be your last.
When I had the Red Measles, my mother wouldn’t let me watch television because they thought that watching TV when you had the Red Measles could cause blindness. Honestly! So I listened to soap operas on the radio. It’s the only time I ever listened to soap operas broadcast over the radio. And on a scale of one to ten enjoyment-wise, I’d give radio soap operas a measly one, frankly.
Okay, mumps were the weirdest thing ever. First of all, there’s the name Mumps. To me it always sounded like something you’d call the grandpa you didn’t like very well. “Oh great here comes Grandpa Mumps! Quick hide the pie!”
But also, if you thought you looked stupid when you had the measles, it was nothing and I mean nothing compared to the stupid you looked when you had the Mumps.
Warning: I’m going to stick a picture in here of someone who has the Mumps. If you’re eating, you might want to leave the room:
Okay, I googled mumps and this came up. I have no idea what is going on here, but whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be going well.
I have a feeling Grandpa Mumps is behind this!
Back in the 50’s, 9 out of 10 kids, chose tonsillitis as their “go to” stay home from school illness. I know I did. And so did my brother, Peter. Peter, however, pulled it one too many times and suffered a fate worse than staying home everyday getting to eat ice cream. “He had to have his tonsils pulled.” Mind you, he could have had “a procedure to have his tonsils removed” but they didn’t sugar coat things back in the fifties — except for every morsel of food you put in your mouth.
Having your tonsils out was a little bit better than having the Red Measles though. For one thing, you got to watch TV without the worry of going blind(unless you had a really bad surgeon) and you got to bang on a pan with a spoon if you need more ice cream because it hurt to yell “Can I have more ice cream!”
All in all, having your tonsils out wasn’t such a bad thing. Except you never got to use it as an excuse to stay home from school again so it definitely had it’s down-side.
Unless you were lucky enough to come down with an appendicitis — but back in the 50’s we were still using our appendix as a second stomach. We still needed our second stomachs.
Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories. Let’s listen in and see what Gregory learned in Sunday school this morning, shall we?
Satan Tests Job
Job was a biblical character who lived in the holy land of Uz believed by scholars to have been located somewhere over the rainbow — providing there had there ever been enough moisture in the holy land to form a rainbow.
Job was always extremely careful when it came to ticking off the Lord. So much so that when any of his kids thew a party, Job would spend the next morning making sacrifices to the Lord just in case one of his kids might have inadvertently insulted the Lord after one too many fig wine coolers.
Cut to the Lord’s Heavenly Conference Room where The Lord was having a meeting with various heavenly beings one of which was Satan himself:
The Lord: Did everybody get their handouts on Sacrificing Do’s and Don’t’s and does anybody have any questions? Yes, the heavenly being with the horns and the name tag that says Santa. What’s you question, Santa?
Satan: Yeah, my name’s not Santa, by the way, it’s Satan, that’s a typo I caused to happen. Bwahaha!
The Lord: I don’t get it, what do you mean by typo?
Satan: It’s a . . . oh never mind.
The Lord: So what have you been up to, Satan?
Satan: Oh you know, walking here and there, roaming around the earth and holding Idle Hands Workshops for the aristocrats, the usual.
The Lord: Well that’s just super! Say, did you happen to notice my servant, Job, he’s like the best worshiper I’ve ever had! He never does anything evil!
Satan: Yeah, that’s because he’s got 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 1,000 head of cattle, 500 donkeys and lord only knows how many cats.
The Lord: That’s not true. I have no idea how many cats he has.
Satan: Bwahaha! There you go again with your sense of humor!
The Lord: My sense of what?
Satan: Never mind. Say, I’m just wondering . . . what about testing Job to see if he would still be such a Goodie-Two-Shoes if his life suddenly became a living hell. I could help you out with that.
The Lord: Well . . . . .
Satan: Ah come on!
The Lord: Well I guess, but only if you promise not to hurt Job. You know how hard it is nowadays to find a good Job.
Satan: Bwahaha! You crack me up!
The Lord: Am I to understand that is your awkwardly worded request stating your desire to be cracked up?
Satan: Say will you look at that! It’s half-past eternity already. Where does the time go? I gotta skedaddle. See ya around, Lord.
Sometime shortly thereafter the following events took place:
Job’s children were having a feast at the home of his oldest son when a servant came running up to Job, huffing and puffing:
Servant: We were plowing the fields and got attacked! All your donkeys were stolen and all your servants were killed!
Job: But they didn’t kill you?
Servant: Yeah . . . (still huffing and puffing) . . . except for me.
Job: Oh great you’re the only slave I have left? And you’re not even in that good of shape.
Then another servant came running up to Job, huffing and puffing.
Servant: Lightening just struck all the sheep and shepherds and everyone was killed but me.
Job: Hmm . . . I’m starting to sense a pattern here.
Just then another servant came running up to Job, huffing and puffing.
Servant: Your children were having a feast at the home of your oldest son when a storm swept in and blew the house down and killed them all.
Job: Except for you . .
Servant: Yeah, how’d you know?
Job: Lucky guess.
After that Job tore his clothes in grief and shaved his head which was the standard biblical procedure when someone a) broke a new pottery water-carrying vessel b) misplaced their dreidel or c) had all their children and animals slaughtered by Satan.
This is about the time the Lord turned on his Heavenly Conference Room hidden earth video camera and observed Job when he said, “I was born with nothing and I will die with nothing. The Lord gave, and now he has taken away. May his name be praised!
In spite of everything that had happened, Job did not sin by blaming The Lord.
It’s a good thing too since Job had nothing left to kill.
And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday school this week, come back next week at this same to so see what new bible lesson Gregory learned about!